


Every Little Means Trust

by ChannelTheFlannel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Bisexual Male Character, Comedy, Companionable Snark, Draco Malfoy-centric, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Draco Malfoy, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Travel, Unspeakable Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChannelTheFlannel/pseuds/ChannelTheFlannel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry meet for the first time after the war in a wizarding veterinary office. A few spoiled pets, a few nosy friends, and a few surprise meetings at work make them realize they've a lot more in common than they had originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Animals

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for the title:  
> [Every Little Means Trust (song)](http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=iLXDVE2U9TQ)

Draco leaned against his bedroom doorframe, staring at the lump under the covers fondly. He hadn't expected him to sleep there, not at all, but it was fine with him. He needed the extra affection, after this past long week at work.

"Didn't I try to get you up an hour ago?" he asked, shaking his head wryly. He could sleep like a rock, he knew. It was inconvenient at times, and rather frustrating, but it was endearing.

There was no response, just some stirring from under the blanket.

"Come on, it's nine o' clock and I don't want to eat breakfast alone again! You sleep too much, lately," he protested, a whine tinging his voice. He crossed his arms when there was no response again.

"I'm going to pick you up and carry you out of bed, dammit!" he announced, marching over to the bed and ripping off the covers.

"You're not even technically allowed to sleep here in the first place," he added, glaring now the still-sleeping, curly haired, light brown mutt of a dog that had kicked him out of the bed last night so he could curl up in it. He was almost fully grown, as he took up most of the bed, but Draco didn't like to admit that to himself. Dashing was still a pup to him, and he still remembered the day he had picked him up from the muggle pound when he was only six weeks old.

He hefted the beast onto his shoulder, and grunted. "You're getting to big for this..." he grumbled, and Dashing whined low in response.

He carried him into the hallway, but when he reached the staircase, he set him onto the ground. "You'll have to make it down to the kitchen on your own, you great oaf." He didn't want to risk falling down the stairs... again. Dashing liked being carried around, and Draco decided he couldn't pamper the dog like that.

And it didn't help that he covered all of his clothes in hair, either.

Dashing, still half-asleep, looked up at him through the whites of his eyes.  _Don't you love me?_

Draco pointed towards the stairs. "Go!" he commanded, and the dog listened. Draco followed him down the staircase, and into the large living room downstairs. The walls were painted a strong blue, the floor dark hardwood, and the sofas were a soft, off-white. The sofas was probably a mistake, he had realized after adopting Dashing, but there were always cleaning charms. They had certainly come in handy, though.

His tea cup from earlier still sat on the glass coffee table, so he picked it up with a levitating charm and carried it into his kitchen.

Every day, he was astounded by how different his new home was from the Manor. He had sold it a few years ago, after his father had been sentenced to Azkaban and his mother had moved off with some politician to live out their days in Ecuador. Despite the fact that he had probably condemned himself to be haunted by any ghosts of Malfoys past for all eternity, he was glad he had gotten rid of it. Despite its haunted past (which he couldn't bear to remember every day), there had been several people who wanted to buy it.

So, he had sold it and whatever other possessions the Ministry hadn't come in and confiscated. He made it out with a gaudy galleon, and more rich than most people could have ever imagined. He used some of the money to help out friends of his who had started new businesses, and some more of it went to post-war charities. Along with a year spent doing charity work in India (and living like a complete animal, he thought), he had practically won over everyone who mattered and was able to get on with life.

Potter's testifying for him at his trial had certainly helped, too. And he had given him his wand back in a very public ceremony (which was most un-Potter-like), which was the most impressively gracious way of announcing that he trusted Draco. 

Draco's life was easy now. He spent his time working small diplomacy jobs for the Ministry, which was a job he had obtained after the trial when his careful wording and composure had attracted the attention of the Head of International Affairs, who happened to be a former-Slytherin. When he wasn't doing that, he was pampering Dashing to his death--and the brat  _was_ becoming spoiled, he noted as he refused to step onto the stone floor of the kitchen until Draco had cast a warming charm on it for him.

Casting the dog a warning glance, he went to the ice box to pull out his food. Fine, grass-fed beef and some crushed up extra supplements; Draco believed in only buying the best (if possible, which was for him), including for his dog.

He served some into a dish and set it on the floor, walking over to the bar-counter where his own meal waited for him with a warming charm. The two companions ate their food separately, in silence. But, Draco hadn't dragged the beast from bed for nothing but its company. He liked someone to talk to, and Dashing had proven sentient enough.

"Why did you feel the need to sleep in  _my_ bed last night, you great slobbering creature?" he demanded, glancing down at the mess he had made on the floor. Draco cast another cleaning charm, and it was gone.

Dashing, naturally, did not answer, and continued to eat his food without care.

"What should we do today?" he asked him. "I've not another trip for the Ministry for another week, so we've plenty of time to spend. Would you fancy a trip to the beach?" 

Dashing looked up at that, and stared at Draco with an expression that clearly said,  _We are not going anywhere wet, ever again._

Draco laughed, shaking his head. "Of course. No more water. Not after the camping trip."

He and Dashing had gone for a week by a lake in the Scottish Highlands in the winter, and the poor creature had decided to go swimming halfway through the trip. He had been freezing for the rest of the day, despite the countless warming and drying spells he had cast on him.

"Oh. I know what we need to do!" Draco exclaimed. "We haven't taken you into the animal healer in months. You need a check up," he reminded the dog, who had stopped his eating and was staring up at Draco with fear and betrayal.

_Actually, the beach sounds wonderful now! How about we go there? There's no needles or pastes there._

Draco grinned. "Oh, you're not getting out of it that easy. You don't want blood-swamp worms, do you?" 

Dashing just whined at him, and tucked his tail between his legs. 

"Come on. I'll owl them, and we'll have an appointment for you before dinner time."

* * *

The animal healer's building was small, a orange and pink hole in the wall next to Eeylop's Owl Emporium. Draco found it detestable that the shop that  _sold_ the animals was more well kept and well funded than the place that helped you take care of the animals, but he supposed that was just how it worked. Most people assumed they had enough magical abilities and potions ingredients to keep their animals well, but Draco only wanted the best for Dashing.

Dashing, however, didn't seem to agree with that. He shook and he whined and he had to be dragged into the building, as he wouldn't even let Draco carry him.

 _Traitor!_ His big brown eyes seemed to say.

But Draco had dragged him inside anyway, and greeted the old, dark skinned man who was the receptionist. He had bright eyes and a wide smile and was always happy to see Draco and Dashing.

"Mr. Malfoy!" He said fondly. "The best dog owner in all of England." He reached behind a desk to pull out the organic dog treats Draco had given him last time he came in, and pulled one out to give to Dashing, who appreciated the gesture but was just as off put as before.

"Thank you, Mr. Gill." Draco smiled back. "He's particularly nervous about today; he was perfectly cheeky before I mentioned coming here. I think he remembers the shots from his last visit," he added in a stage whisper.

Mr. Gill laughed heartily, and told them to take a seat.

Draco focused again on his terrified dog, this time scooping him up into his arms and sitting down with him on his lap on the cushioned bench in the corner. He stroked behind Dashing's ears and mumbled to him reassuring, gibberish things. But none of them worked.

"You'll be fine, you dramatic beast. You know everyone here is nice to you!" he whispered.

Dashing was growing heavy on his lap, but he was very stiff, and he didn't want him to become scared the moment he set him on the floor. He sighed, and resigned to shifting under the weight. _He really is no longer a puppy, damn it. Not that he doesn't act like one..._

"That's a strange choice for a lap dog, Malfoy." Someone across from him chuckled.

Draco hadn't even noticed there was anyone else there, so concerned he was for Dashing. He looked up, and immediately his heart skipped a beat. And then it started going far too fast.

Harry bleeding  _Potter_ had been sitting across from him, a green bird perched on his shoulder. And Draco hadn't even  _noticed!_

"Potter?" Draco asked, for just a moment betraying his shock. He composed himself in a moment, however. "And he is  _not_ a lap dog. He just needs my emotion support right now!" He added sourly.

Potter chuckled, and the colorful bird on his shoulder nipped at his ear. "Never imagined  _you'd_ be giving emotional support to anyone, let alone a dog." He laughed mockingly, and the bird trilled in agreement.

"He's Britain's greatest dog owner, Mr. Potter!" Mr. Gill called out good naturedly. "That is the best treated dog you will ever see."

Draco lifted his chin and smirked, and then returned his attention to Dashing, who had begun shivering. Potter wasn't worth Draco's time, anyway.

"Still," Potter said, apparently not giving up his pathetic attempts at conversation, "I'd never expect you to be a dog person." 

Draco exhaled deeply and rolled his shoulders, trying to give off the aura of exasperation. "And I never thought you'd be a _parrot_ person." He scoffed, trying to ignore Potter's ridiculous stare. _What is he smiling about?_

"He's not a parrot. He's a _Lilac Crested_   _Amazon.,"_ Potter corrected him, enunciating carefully. "Isn't that right, Feldspar?" he cooed at the bird, which flared his tail a bit and lifted his head.

 _"Lilaaac AmaZON!"_ the bird cried in agreement, nuzzling Potter's face again. 

"It talks..." Draco groaned when Dashing jumped at the sound, staring at the bird in shock. He soothingly stroked his dog, urging him to clam down.

Potter smiled proudly. "He's a magical breed, so he's smarter than most birds. He's got quite a personality." The bird preened itself at the mention of its own superiority. "I bought Feldspar a few months ago when I was in Mexico doing some field work."

"Why in Merlin's name would you name him after a  _mineral?"_ asked Draco, now admittedly  _slightly_ interested.

"Sounded nice," Potter mumbled, and shrugged with the one shoulder the bird wasn't on. It looked like a very natural motion, as if the bird had spent a lot of time on that shoulder. Draco cringed imagining the mess that could have made.

"Sounded nice..." Draco repeated, rolling his eyes. "Only you would come up with a mundane reason like that for naming something."

Potter winced, looking hurt, and the bird mimicked him. "Well, what's your crup named?" he demanded.

"He's not a crup!" Draco insisted, and Dashing jerked from the outcry. Attempting to soothe the animal again, he finally replied, "His name is Dashing. And there's a  _story_ behind it."

"Well, there's a story behind Feldspar, too!" Potter argued, and the bird squawked in agreement.

"Magic stuff!" it screeched, and Potter stroked it in congratulations.

"Mr. Potter?" The door opened, and the middle aged witch that ran the animal hospital opened a door. "We're ready to see Feldspar."

Potter sneered at Draco. "See ya around, Malfoy."

"Hopefully it shan't come to that!" Draco called after him, turning back to continue soothing Dashing.

As he scratched the honey-colored dog's ears, he felt less and less upset with his encounter with Potter. It unnerved him that he had lost his cool so easily around him... Usually, he was the diplomat. He could stay calm. But Potter had riled him up, and it hadn't even seemed like he was trying. It was... unnerving.

He would do his best to forget about this.

 


	2. The Park

Dashing had been fine, and there were no blood swamp worms. Draco hadn't actually been worried about it, though. There were just more shots, some paperwork, and a new supplement for his food now that he was getting bigger.

Four days after that appointment, Draco had almost forgotten about the entire unfortunate encounter with Potter.

Almost.

He had taken Dashing to a new park for the sake of mixing things up, and he was currently engaging with a muggle owner of two strange looking mutts that they called "labradoodles." He didn't know much about muggle dog breeds, besides that Dashing was part Irish Wolfhound and Golden Retriever--whatever that meant, but it was on his papers.

The dogs were cute, despite their atrocious breed name, but they were too small to play with Dashing properly. He and the muggle were trying to separate the dogs, when the two tiny devils started teaming up against Dashing.

"Enough, you beasts!" Draco cried, trying to refrain from drawing his wand on the surprisingly vicious things. Dashing was usually the bully, not the other way around. And at least Dashing could be controlled!

Then, the muggle was apologizing profusely and harnessing his dogs and dragging the yipping monsters away.  _Good riddance._

But Draco wasn't really paying attention, because he had just spotted Harry Potter and his bloody green bird.

And the worst part was, he felt the need to grab Potter's attention.

He picked up a stone and Transfigured it into a bright colored tennis ball. "Fetch, Dashing!" He shouted, as loud as he could. He watched as his dog ran away to the other end of the park, charging past Potter.

_Damn._

Potter didn't even notice. He was too busy talking to that fucking bird.

Dashing came charging back to him, bouncing and eager and happy to be alive. Draco took the ball from the dog's mouth and threw it again, this time closer to Potter, who still didn't notice.

He sighed, feeling resigned. He would have to be obvious, if Potter was going to be oblivious. He decided he was going to get Potter's attention one way or another, and he might as well have fun while he was at it.

He crouched down to get Dashing excited, scratching his head and talking to him excitedly. "You wanna run, boy? Chase me!" He shouted, and started running (only vaguely) in Potter's direction. "Chase me, Dashing!" He shouted, running and laughing all the way.

He whizzed past Potter, only looking at him through the corner of his eye. He saw Potter looking, and--

_Dammit!_

Draco tripped on something, face planting into the grass. All at once, Dashing jumped on top of him, and began to lick his face and muss up his hair. But, this was his dog, his best friend, and roughhousing was something he was used to after almost a year with a rowdy pup.

"You gigantic beast!" Draco yowled, reaching up to wrestle with the dog, who was nearly as big as he was. He made (admittedly distasteful) growling noises back at the dog, and he was laughing as he rolled around on the ground and had completely forgotten about Potter.

The wrestling went on for another few minutes, and his clothes were grass stained, and there were twigs in his hear, and dog saliva all over his face. He was out of breath. "Dashing!" He panted. "Heel, Dashing! That's enough, you oaf!" He managed to crawl out from underneath the zealous mutt and sit up on the grass, his jeans practically now dyed green and his shirt most likely ruined. He laughed again, because there were spells to fix that, and his dog was happy. He reached over to rub Dashing's back, who laid down next to him and was panting.

Then, he realized Potter was across from him, staring. He was smirking, and Draco felt uneasy as the other man walked over.

"You're a mess." He informed Draco, sitting down next to him.

"How embarrassing," Draco said dryly. "Not the mess part. But being seen near you," he added, looking away from Potter's eyes, which were as green as the rain-fed grass he was sitting on.

Potter laughed. "I didn't ever imagine you'd have fun. You really love that dog, don't you?" he inquired, stretching his arm over Draco to pat the dog's head. Dashing was happy for the attention, and he got up to cross directly over Draco to sniff Potter and the bird.

"I feel betrayed," he muttered, as Potter began to shower affection all over his best friend. "And yes, Dashing is practically my life now. He's a real brat."

"No surprise, considering he was raised by you," Potter commented, ruffling the fur around Dashing's collar. "I'd bet you spoil him rotten. Doesn't he, doggy?" he asked in a baby voice, pressing his face close to Dashing's.

"You're awfully friendly, considering you're not supposed to touch strange dogs." Draco sniffed, scowling, and felt annoyed that Dashing liked Potter so much.

Potter chuckled. "He's clearly a big softie. Aren't you, boy?" he cooed, and Dashing rolled onto his back to have his stomach rubbed.

"And your bird, Potter? Is he friendly?" Draco asked with a reserved tone.

Potter looked up from worshipping Dashing. "Oh, Feldspar? Yeah, he's a good boy," he said, looking at Draco with wide, exposed eyes.

Draco realized, with a start, that he wasn't wearing any glasses. _No wonder his eyes are so enamoring._

He froze. He did _not_ just think Potter's eyes were enamoring.

"Feldspar! Say hell,." Potter commanded, and suddenly the winged creature was soaring (well, perhaps just jumping) at Draco, and it landed on his shoulder with a shrieking chorus of, "Hello! Hello! Hello!" in Draco's ear.

It proceeded to nest itself in Draco's already disheveled hair. "Hm. Yes. Very friendly, Potter," he hissed, frozen and afraid to move lest he anger the flying South American death screamer perched on top of his head.

Potter burst out laughing. "You look terrified, Malfoy! Absolutely petrified!" 

Dashing barked in agreement, and Draco felt stung.

"This is hilarious," Potter admitted. "You look ridiculous, all messy and Feldspar atop your crown." He chuckled softly, fading off to stare at Draco with a curious smile on his face.

"Wishing you brought a camera, Potter? Do you want to blackmail me? And steal my dog while you're at it?" he snarled, still unable to move for the unpredictable thing that was apparently nuzzling his scalp.

Potter grinned, and touched the side of Draco's head, and the bird hopped back onto his hand. "You're such a paranoid prick, Malfoy." He sighed. "I wouldn't do any of those things."

Draco loosened once his head was free from those sharp talons. "And how would I know?" he snapped, glaring at the bird.

"I trust  _you,_ Malfoy," Potter pointed out. "I testified for you at your trial. I gave you your wand back. I sat down with you and your soppy guard dog. Hell, I let you touch my bird. Dangerous people don't get to touch Feldspar." He shook his head. "Why would I do anything to sabotage you now?"

"I'm plenty dangerous!" Draco protested. "But, I suppose you do have a point." He muttered, reaching over to stroke Dashing, who had curled up into a ball between the two men. "Even if your bird is terrifying."

"What's so scary about him?" Potter asked, scratching the bird's head with a finger. "He's no different than an owl." The bird squawked in agreement.

"He's  _very_ different, Potter." Draco scoffed. "He's colorful, and his eyes are practically  _poring_ into me. They look more emotional than  _human_ eyes, and ot's like he's telling me to give him my soul," he whispered, making a show of staring hypnotically into the bird's eyes.

Potter  _giggled._ "But that's his charm!" he exclaimed. "He's the perfect companion. He loves attention, and he talks to you, and he wants to be around you. Though I can't eat around the bugger without him stealing half of it," he added bitterly, and the bird nipped his ear.

"You should have just gotten a dog," Draco drawled, pointedly ruffling Dashing between the ears.

"Or you should have gotten an Amazon," Potter retorted, and the bird hopped to perch on his wrist.

"Better!" the bird cawed. 

"How much can that thing say?" Draco asked cautiously, and it looked at him with big, glossy eyes. It looked evil. Conniving. Adorable.  _Kind of like Potter._

 _Stop it!_ He chided himself, realizing his gaze had shifted to Potter again, and he was rambling on about the bird.

"...and he can speak better in Spanish, not that I understand half of it. I wasn't there long enough to pick up everything he did," he explained,  and all at once the bird bounded from his wrist and flew into the air.

"Gah!" Draco cried, practically rolling to escape it. It flew high up into the air, and circled a few times before landing in a tree.

"And that's why you don't get a bird! He'll never come down, Potter!" Draco laughed, almost hysterically. He took Dashing's leash from his pocket and attached it to his collar, just for good measure.

Potter smiled graciously at him, though he had no idea why Potter needed to be gracious at all. "It's fine." He assured Draco. "Feldspar! Come down!" he called, and the bird let out a "Coming!" and flew down to land in Potter's hair, which might as well have been a bird's nest anyway.

Draco sniggered. "Who looks silly now?"

"Still you," Potter shot back, slowly getting up. "Look in a mirror. You're covered in grass. It's really quite satisfying, that even Draco Malfoy can't look perfect all the time."

Draco frowned, running a hand through his hair to get all the debris out of it. "I'm always flawless," he replied, and Dashing licked his face as if to agree.

"Whatever, Malfoy," he replied, turning to walk away. He glanced over his shoulder, one last time, and added, "Though you look nicer when you're having fun."

Then he wandered away, and Draco swore to himself to never return to this park ever again. Then, perhaps, he wouldn't have to see Potter for the rest of his days.

He didn't like the feeling Potter gave him. He felt... dizzy. And fluttery. And not at all composed.  He didn't know what to say around Potter, so he just defended himself constantly.

It reminded him too much of school, actually. Back then, every time he saw Potter, his blood would rush and his mind would go blank and his heart would flutter and he would be reverted to his primal instincts: to insult. And he really didn't like that; he very much looked like a fool... Nothing like the intelligent, careful, polite diplomat that had won over ministry officials and foreign leaders. 

Potter brought out the worst in him, he decided, and would avoid him if he could. Just like he tried to in school, though back then it had been inevitable. Their tables were directly across from each other in the Great Hall (though Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were between them), so naturally his gaze always drifted over to him. To glare at him. And he would always bump into him in the hallways, because they lived in the same castle, and shared some of the same classes. So of course he would try to talk--er, insult--him.

But now? His life had nothing to do with Potter's, thank the gods. So, he had the most fortunate ability to just avoid him! Completely. He never had to see Potter, because their lives were so different. So far apart. He realized that he had no idea what Potter actually did as a living... But he didn't need to, because he would never run into him again. Not a chance.

And if he ever did see Potter again, he could just ignore him. 

Couldn't he?

 


	3. Lunch

It was late at night, and Draco had just gotten back from his latest trip for the Ministry. He had been needed to settle some sort of quarrel between England and Norway over the trade laws for dittany. It had been ridiculous, but he had resolved it, and he had just gotten back home to Dashing.

"Sorry, boy." He laughed as the dog jumped all over him in joy of his return. "It lasted a bit late. But no worries, I saved the day!" 

"Do you know how long I've waited?" 

Draco stiffened, and he realized that someone was sitting on his living room sofa. He turned around slowly, and cast a spell to turn the lights on. He relaxed as he realized it was Blaise, sprawled out and looking smug.

"Five hours, Malfoy. You're gonna pay for that." 

"How did you get in?" Draco demanded, slipping his formal robes off of his head and revealing his more comfortable muggle clothes underneath. A quick spell sent the robes back to their closet, and another one set the tea on as he sat down next to his old friend.

"You left the floo open," Blaise told him, and a lazy smirk spread on his face. "I thought I'd hang around and wait for you. But you took so long, I ended up having to cook myself dinner. Hope you don't mind cleaning up," he added.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What'd you take, you prick?" he demanded.

"You had some lovely chopped up beef in a tupperware, so I just cooked it up with some sauces and your leftover vegetables," he said absently, and picked up a tea cup as Draco summoned the tray.

Draco laughed leisurely. "You pig!" He snorted, for extra effect. "That was Dashing's food!"

Blaise turned green, apparently off put by the prospect he had eaten  _dog food._

"Don't worry," Draco assured him. "He eats better than most people. The beef was fine."

Blaise looked only slightly comforted, and shot an uneasy glance towards Dashing. "Well. It was good," he muttered, shaking his head. "But I didn't come to talk about surprising meats."

"Then what  _did_ you come to talk about? How much you like my couch?" 

"No, you git," Blaise retorted. "I've got a new girlfriend. Thought you might like to meet her. We're going out for lunch at that new place just outside Diagon in Muggle London, if you'd like to join us."

Draco was flattered at the offer. "I'd love to. Who is she?" he added out of curiosity.

"Ah, but that's part of the surprise, mate." He winked, placing his teacup back on the tray and standing up. "Meet you at twelve-thirty sharp, yeah?" He asked, heading back towards the floo.

"See you then," Draco replied, watching his friend hardly have to stoop to go through his large fireplace. 

He saw Dashing watching him dejectedly. "Did Blaise eat your food, buddy? Let's make you something, and it's off to bed," he said cheerily.

"Your  _own_ bed," he added, not wanting to have to wash dog hair out of his expensive sheets again.

* * *

The next morning, he had called over Dashing's usual sitter, and old muggle woman named Judy who didn't notice the strange magical qualities of the house and seemed to get along with the dog well enough. He usually found her with him in the back yard, tossing his toys about or sitting with him in the garden and talking to him quietly.

Once that was settled, he apparated into Diagon Alley. He had a few hours yet until he met with Blaise and his mystery girl for lunch, so he decided to run some errands. He had to stop by The Apothecary for some potions supplies, and then he'd visit Flourish and Blotts to buy a few books for birthday gifts. When he was done with that, he'd figure he'd waste some time at Broomstix and see what latest model had come out. He lived in the country, and flying his broom in the evenings was one of his favorite ways to relax.

Not that his life was particularly stressful.

Diagon Alley was busy that morning. The spring air was wet and heavy with the promise of rain, but it wasn't  _too_ cold. He had settled for a coat and trousers, not really in the mood to wear robes for a casual lunch meet, especially if he was just going to venture out into muggle territory right after he'd finished. Plus, it was sort of thrilling. Everyone stared at him in his muggle attire, contrasting with his very Malfoy-ish, pureblooded appearance and demeanor.

The Apothecary was cool and damp, and eerie looking potions ingredients peered out from jars while more colorful dried flowers poked out of roughly woven baskets. He sought out moonstone, syrup of hellebore, ashwinder eggs, and powdered unicorn horn. He was brewing a batch of the Draught of Peace in case his anxiety started flaring up again, along with a heart-burn potion he had been working on to ruin his pesky neighbor's day (the ashwinder eggs being the prime ingredient). 

He carried the ingredients up to the counter, and the man at the counter grinned at him. "Ashwinder and moonstone, eh? Someone brewing up Amortentia?" he inquired with a wink.

Draco scowled at him. "Are you saying I look like I need it?" he retorted, making a dramatic gesture towards his own body. "I think I'm attractive enough; I don't need to poison people into loving me." He scoffed.

The man looked at him embarrassedly as Draco handed him a handful of coins. "Not with that high-and-mighty attitude..." He muttered.

"The ashwinder is for a particularly nasty heart burn potion I invented, I'll have you know," Draco told him with an upturned nose. 

The man rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, quite a lovely character," he muttered under his breath. "Do you need these owled to your house, or would you prefer to carry them?" 

"Owl them, please." He handed him a few extra galleons. He was being too generous, but he was in a mood to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Alright then," the man said, taking down Draco's address. Just as he was turing to leave, the man added, "Fancy going out for some drinks sometime?"

Draco turned on his heel. "I thought you didn't enjoy my  _character,"_ he sneered, though he found himself thinking for moment he was attractive enough.

The man shrugged. "You're a potions master, aren't you? And you're easy on the eyes." He gave him the same sleazy wink from before.

"You'll find I'm not easy in any other way," Draco spat, turning to leave before the man could say anything more. He hated it when people thought he was nothing more than a one night stand. To be truthful (though cloying), he wanted a more permanent relationship.

He settled to skip Flourish and Blotts altogether, looking at the clock and realizing he had been rather set on looking at the new brooms. The gifts could wait; he also didn't think he could trust himself to avoid buying more books than he could carry. Flourish and Blotts didn't have the same owl delivery service that The Apothecary had.

He took the relatively short walk to Broomstix, pausing at the storefront to look at the newest broom. It was called The Nebula, and Draco wondered when they had stopped choosing the names of celestial objects that actually  _moved quickly._

He grinned despite himself, and entered the shop to look around. It was recently painted in a blue-periwinkle color, and it smelled like wood varnish and buzzed with excited energy. He was greeted by the eager young boy at the counter, and he responded with a quick "Hello." _  
_

He was reading a pamphlet on the Nebula, when he heard a now-familiar voice for the third time too many in recent weeks.

"Malfoy? You again?"

Draco spun to face Potter and glower at him. "Potter." He grimaced. "How have I managed to run into you so often lately, when I managed to avoid you for six years?"

"Who's counting?" Potter returned, and crossed his arms.

"Where's the parrot?" Draco turned back to his pamphlet and did his best to ignore Potter's pretty eyes. And he was  _not_ imagining Potter flying around on The Nebula, and nor was he wistfully reminiscing their days playing Quidditch with--no, against--each other. Not. At. All.

"He's not a parrot, he's an Amazon. And he's at home. I had an engagement today where it wouldn't have been acceptable to bring him," Potter replied, in a tone so snooty Draco barely recognized it as him. 

"Same with Dashing," said Draco absently, flipping his pamphlet shut and putting it back in its place. "Well, Potter, it's been lovely catching up," he muttered stonily, "but I've a lunch date to attend."

"Me, too, Malfoy. See you never," Potter grumbled.

They both made for the door without addressing the boy behind the counter. 

And then they began walking in the same direction, so Draco did his best to pretend that he was not walking mere paces away from Potter. The other man was apparently doing the same, though they kept shifting uneasy glances at each other.

"Where are  _you_ headed to?" Potter demanded at last, after they had walked side by side for a good ten minutes.

"The new muggle place outside of the Leaky. Why?" Draco snapped, trying to make up for the fact he had just willingly told Potter his destination.

Potter gave him a miserable look. "The Red Chalice?" 

Draco nodded, suddenly feeling sick.

"Damn," Potter grumbled, looking away. "Me, too."

"Well, this is sufficiently awkward," Draco groaned, crossing his arms.

"I can afford to be a few minutes late. It's just Ginny. I'll stand here and wait until you're ahead of me, and then we won't show up together."

"That's probably the only decent idea you've ever had," Draco responded, already speeding up as Potter stopped walking. 

_That's an unfortunate coincidence. Now, I'll probably end up staring at Potter and his Weasel date while I'm third wheeling for Blaise. Bloody brilliant._

He made it to the Leaky Cauldron alone, and he left the dismal place to enter the electric buzz of muggle London. The Red Chalice was just a block away. When he got there, it was eclectic enough to be owned by wizards. And, considering its proximity to Diagon, he wouldn't be surprised if it was.

Inside, it was warm compared to the cloudy, spring chill of the muggy streets. It smelled like herbs and garlic, and it looked suspiciously Gryffindor, decorated in hues of red on the tables and booths, and the menus were golden. Perhaps he was just being suspicious.

"Have you a reservation?" a muggle waitress asked him.

He didn't know, actually. "Er, Zabini?" 

She smiled. "Your table is over here, in the back. The rest of your party has yet to arrive."

"Oh." He paused as he sat down at the lonely table. "What time is it?" 

She checked her watch. "Twelve-twenty, sir. Your reservation was scheduled for twelve-thirty."

Draco nodded absently, and she left to attend to other people. He poured himself a glass of water and stirred it with a flimsily muggle straw, trying to avoid making eye contact with Potter when he would inevitably enter the restaurant.

He couldn't help himself when the moment came, of course. Potter entered, all charming and casual, smiling warmly at the waitress. 

"Are you under a reservation?" she inquired.

"It might be under Weasley," he told her.

"Right this way!" she chirped, and she began walking towards the back, where Draco's table was. 

 _Why_ _couldn't he have sat outside?_ He thought in a woe-is-me kind of way.

He met Potter's face with confusion and horror when the waitress led him to Draco's table.

"This table is Zabini," Draco reminded the waitress, and she nodded and smiled back at him. Potter looked like he could be on the urge of fainting.

"It's under Wealsey-Zabini," she corrected him, turning to Potter. "This is your table!" She scurried away before she could hear the ensuing disagreement.

"Gods help us," Potter groaned, pulling out the chair across from Draco. "They did this. They tricked us."

Draco glared at him in distaste. "Don't start grouping us together just because we're victims to those two's antics," he grumbled, pausing in confusion. "Weren't you dating the Weasley girl? I thought you two would be married by now."

Potter shrugged. "We broke up a few years ago. Apparently she's got a thing for Slytherins now. First Flint, now Zabini." He rolled his eyes. "She probably thinks this is some kind of grand joke."

"It  _is_ a grand joke!" a voice chirped from behind him.

It was the Weasley girl, with Blaise's arm wrapped around her. "Up you go, Harry. Next to Malfoy. Let me sit with my beau," she insisted.

Potter inhaled deeply and glared at her. "But, Ginny--"

"Nope! You're moving. Next to Malfoy." She pulled him up by the back of his collar and sat down in his place. "Why, thank you, Harry, for pulling out a chair for me." She smirked, and Blaise gracefully sat in the chair next to her.

Draco glared at Potter as he sat down next to him, and then at Blaise. "You could have told me Potter would be coming."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "But then you wouldn't have come, old boy." He sighed, as if it were the most trivial thing in the world. "There was no other way to get our two favorite gays together at once."

"I'm not gay!" Potter cried, at the same time as Draco's surprised exclamation of, "Potter's gay?"

The two were left staring at each other in shock, and the Weasley girl clapped in delight. "Bisexual, Blaise. It's very valuable you get that right. You can't just forget the two years we fu--"

"I get it, Gin," Blaise mumbled, casting a wary look at Harry, who was shifting uneasily and avoiding everyone's gaze.

Draco glared head on at Blaise. "This isn't funny."

Blaise shrugged innocently. "It wasn't supposed to be. It was supposed to be  _fun._ And what double-date isn't fun?" he added gleefully, a wicked look glinting in his eye.

"I hate double dates," Draco replied without skipping a beat. 

"I hate them too!" Harry protested, looking up at Weasley with a desperate look in his eyes.

She was merciless, though, and just grinned at him. "Oh, look, Blaise," she sang, "they've already got one thing in common. This is going splendidly already!"

"It is  _not_ going splendidly," Draco hissed, and turned to cast a glare at Potter. "We deliberately tried  _not_ to arrive at the same time! And now this happens!"

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you did know about this?" He inquired.

"No!" Both Draco and Potter exclaimed.

"We ran into each other at Broomstix," Potter explained hastily.

"And we tried to get away," Draco continued for him earnestly.

"And so I walked slowly."

"While I power walked as fast as I fucking could."

"And then I came in, and  _he_ was already here!" Potter cried, pointing helplessly at Draco.

Weasley and Blaise were cackling relentlessly. "They're already finishing each other's sentences!" Weasley declared joyfully.

"We  _are_ the best matchmakers ever!" Blaise smirked.

Potter was as red as a tomato and looked ready to retreat into a shell, if he had one. Draco was feeling the same way, though he was better at hiding it. He took a casual gulp of his water, but shot Blaise a look that said he planned to murder him in his sleep.

_Here's a date that can't go well._


	4. Frustration

The waitress came to take their orders, and Draco noticed she was stating uncomfortably at Potter and him. Probably because they had been glaring daggers at each other this entire time and muttering complaints.

"What can I get for you two?" she asked uncomfortably, glancing between them.

"The panini's fine," Potter muttered, folding up his menu and handing it to the young woman awkwardly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "And I'll have the soup. Because I'm not a  _barbarian,_ and I don't eat anything that doesn't require silverware." He sniffed, casting a particularly venomous at Potter.

Blaise laughed heartily. "Oh, that's rich. You eat macadamia nuts by the handful and have no self restraint when it comes to popcorn. And need I remind you of the pizza incident we had last month?" He shook his head, and cast an apologetic look at the waitress. "Thanks for dealing with them. I'll be sure to tip you well."

The waitress nodded and skittered away.

"You're horrible, Blaise," Draco pouted. Why did he have to be like that? He would have defended him back at school.

Potter let out a chuckle. "I'm sorry." He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "Pizza incident?"

Draco glared at him as harshly as he could. "We're not discussing it," he snapped, turning to take a sip of his water. 

"Another time, then." Potter sighed, mimicking Draco drinking in a most unsavory manner. Draco very much wanted to wipe that pretty little smirk off of his face. He wasn't picky about how it could be done.

"Another time?" Draco repeated. "We're not doing this  _ever_ again."

"Didn't you say something like that the last two times we met?" Potter snickered, trying to hide the ridiculous expression on his face by taking another sip of water.

"Last two times?" Blaise asked, and both he and Ginny leaned forward on their elbows.

Draco groaned. "It was on accident. I was taking Dashing to the vet--"

Blaise interrupted him with a bark of laughter. "Oh, gods, this is about the dog, isn't it? That dog is bloody brilliant. Gin, did I tell you about Draco's dog?" He turned to face his terribly ginger girlfriend. "He spoils it to high heaven like it's his  _child."_

Draco didn't even interrupt. He was grateful for the distraction from his surprise meetings with Potter.

"Anyway," Potter interrupted with a smile on his face, and Draco shot him a harsh glare. "He was with the dog, and he didn't even notice I was there until I commented on the beast, which was sitting on his lap--"

"Shut it, Potter. I was telling the story--" his voice broke as he realized what he was saying--"I mean, let's just not fucking tell the story at all!" he corrected himself with a cry. When everyone ignored him, he buried his face in his hands.

"So, I had Feldspar with me, and we just started talking about our animals." Potter shrugged and grinned like that was all there was to it, and there was no issue whatsoever.

Draco strongly disagreed.

"You forgot to mention that I insulted you multiple times. And you were being ridiculously--" he broke off, realizing he was going to say something like  _amusing_ or _pleasant._

The Weasley girl rolled her eyes. "Ho hum," she said. "What about the next time?" She appeared to be asking Potter, not Draco.

And Draco didn't think he wanted to tell that story, considering he had actively been trying to get Potter's attention.  _And now I have it._

"He was at the park, with the dog," Potter explained. "He was running around with it like a madman and didn't even notice me, I swear to Merlin! I was talking loudly to Feldspar, and he didn't even notice." He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with the sound.

"Am I supposed to notice you, Potter?" Draco demanded.

"You did at school!" all three of them said at once, and Draco felt himself turn red. He hadn't been expecting that.

"I ended up walking right up to him when he was wrestling with it on the ground," he explained. "Looked so bloody happy."

Draco folded his arms and placed them on the table, which was certainly against common etiquette, but he wanted to come off as rude because he was  _feeling_ rude. "I'm still here, you know," he grumbled, wondering why Potter thought he could sit there and talk about him in that mocking, humorous tone...

"See, Draco? Harry isn't opposed to this. I can't see why you're being such a prat about it," Blaise commented smugly.

Potter sat up straight. "I am  _not_ okay with this double date thing," he clarified, lifting a hand in the air. "I'm just agreeing that he really, really likes his bloody dog."

The Weaselette rolled her eyes. "And you really, really like your bloody bird," she countered with a raised eyebrow.

"Birds are much better than dogs," he replied idly. Draco caught Blaise snickering at that.

"Take that back, _Potter,_ " Draco replied in a bored tone. "We both know that dogs are much better. Just face it--you were all over Dashing at the park." He smirked.

"I was not! I just happened to want--"

Potter didn't finish his thought, his cheeks flushing red. He took another ungraceful gulp of his water, and stared at the scarlet tablecloth.

"Want what, Harry?" asked Blaise, in that same complacent tone that Draco knew he himself used so often.

"Nothing," Potter mumbled. "You're a git, Malfoy." He added, half-heartedly.

"So glad we've expanded our vocabulary after all these years." Draco muttered, glaring at him out of the corners of his eyes. He took a moment to notice that Potter's face was much more becoming without the glasses, and his hair tumbled down like--

_Fucking Merlin. I need to stop thinking._

The Weaselette had a dreamy look on her face. "This will work just yet, Blaise! We've done a just thing here."

Both Draco and Potter groaned.

* * *

"I'm sorry, boy," Draco muttered to Dashing when he returned home. "I wasted a day we could have spent doing something fun with Harry bloody fucking Potter." He sighed, reaching down to scratch the sleeping dog's head. He was curled up on his bed in the living room by the hearth. He slowly woke up, his tail thumping when he realized Draco was back.

Draco stood up straight and stretched. Lunch with Potter and Blaise and the Weasley girl had been miserable, actually. He probably would have been better off running off with that creep from The Apothecary. At least he knew something about Potions...

But, Potter _was_ interested in men. That was news. Draco thought he might have figured it out beforehand, but he had been so busy hating Potter that he clearly didn't notice.

 _Or you were busy worrying you didn't stand a chance regardless._ A voice in the back of his head told him, and he shook it away. Since when did Potter matter to him, anyway?

But... He had a lunch date with Potter, and he _wasted_ it by acting like a git and getting angry over every little thing. And yet Potter had seemed fairly amicable throughout the entire encounter. Either that, or he just pretended Draco wasn't even there.

But Potter wasn't even the worst part of the whole thing, he realized. Blaise was dating Ginny Weasley, and he hadn't even told him until he used it as an excuse to hook him up with Potter (which had failed miserably). He was a manipulative bastard!

And Potter wasn't dating her anymore! How had he not heard that. He had obsessively followed every article about P--

 _I did no such thing._ He tried to assure himself.

It was no use, though, considering there was an entire drawer full of physical evidence. Potter's break up was apparently never covered by the media. He cringed at the thought of the drawer. Along with countless newspaper clippings and photographs of him, it had several Harry Potter Chocolate Frog Cards. Of course, he had only been collecting the papers for a bonfire... The only literature that should be burned was Potter-related literature...

 _So why haven't you burned it?_ The voice in the back of his head asked him. He didn't know what to think. So, what if he had a minor obsession with the bloody Boy Who Lived? It's not like the rest of the Wizarding World didn't... He was being perfectly normal. Potter just happened to be captivat--

 _HARRY POTTER IS NOT CAPTIVATING!_ He scolded himself. _And you're not the rest of the Wizarding World. You have no excuse to fawn over Potter._

But, he had a chance at a lunch date with Potter, and he ruined it. For the sake of the rest of the Wizarding World, couldn't he have enjoyed it a little more?

Dashing whined for something to eat, and Draco shook his head. He didn't know which voice in his head was louder: the one that hated Potter, or the one that...that....

_Is obsessed with him._

Nothing more than that. He took a deep breath and grounded himself, taking Dashing's food out of the plastic container in the ice box. He cast a brief heating spell to kill any parasites or bacteria in it, and scooped some into his bowl.

"Sorry I left you alone all day, boy," he muttered, sitting down on the floor next to the growing dog, stroking his fur. He found himself thinking about the lunch again...

 _Potter kept on mentioning how I didn't notice him. Was he_ trying _to get my attention, then?_

Before he could catch himself, he was smiling silly and blushing. He groaned in frustration, and leaned back, banging his head on the cabinet behind him. Dashing started, and must have noticed how distressed he was, because he began to lick Draco's face, smelly breath and all.

"You foul beast!" Draco protested. "Leave me to my sorrow!" He cried, gently pushing his companion animal away. Dashing could be absurdly affectionate at the worst times, but Draco supposed he had left him alone all day. With a sigh, he petted the dog as it ate its food.

"What do I do, Dashing?" he asked, distrait. "I hate Potter so much." He heaved a huge, shuddering sigh, and slumped over a bit.

Dashing finished his food and rest his head on Draco's knees. Draco absentmindedly patted the mutt's head.

_You don't hate him, though. Do you?_

"I don't know." 


	5. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this whole story too cheesy or dramatic or out of character? Because I feel like it is. I just read some really bad fanfic and now I don't know what's real anymore.

Blaise decided to drop by a few days after the lunch disaster to apologize.

He showed up while Draco had been cleaning around the house. He didn't use house elves anymore--not after Granger had practically gone through the Ministry and vilified anyone who did. If he wanted to keep his job, he would do the cleaning himself, as ridiculous of a statement that was. Wasn't there a time when having someone else do your cleaning made you more impressive?

Not anymore. Besides, it helped him feel more human. Even if Blaise did mock him for it.

"Oh, look at you. You'll make an  _excellent_ wife one day," he cooed, while climbing out of the floo. Some ash scattered on the carpet, and Draco shot him a look. Both for the rude comment and for the mess.

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry," Blaise muttered, lifting his hands in the air in defeat. "I'll clean it up."

"Husbands ought to clean, too, you know," Draco snapped, flicking his wand and Vanishing the ash. "I think your Weaselette might appreciate it if you did." He added with a smirk.

Blaise scowled and took a seat on the sofa. "Don't call her that, mate," he muttered. "She's really not all that bad. We're no longer just Slytherins and Gryffindors, you know?" 

Draco rolled his eyes and cast a final varnishing spell on the floor. "Don't get all sentimental on me now." He scoffed, joining his friend on the sofa. Dashing lifted his head from his spot on the bed and wagged his tail.  _Are you done? Is it still slippery_ _?_

"I'm not," Blaise replied. "You're the one who's not letting go of old grudges. Potter wasn't being all that bad at all," he remarked, stretching his arms out along the back of the sofa.

"I don't care, Blaise," Draco snapped. "He's still  _Potter._ He's still famously adored and can't do anything wrong. He's still got that bloody ridiculous hair, and even if the glasses are gone--" He broke off when he realized he was about to go on about Potter's eyes again.

"Don't embarrass yourself." Blaise chuckled. "It just sounds like sixth year all over again." He punched Draco's arm teasingly.

"What's that supposed to mean, Zabini?" he snapped, flinching away and crossing his arms. 

Blaise smirked. "You love him, you hate him, you love him, you hate him," he sang. "Potter's a git! Potter's so perfect! I hate him! Why does he hate  me?" His voice was a mimicking falsetto. It made Draco seethe.

"I don't love him," he retorted. "I have consistently hated him since the moment we met." He held his chin up in the air and huffed.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Bollocks," he replied cheerily. "You've been smitten with him since day one. You're just sour that he didn't want to be friends with you in first year." 

Draco's head snapped over to glare at his friend. "I don't know what you're talking about," he hissed.

Blaise just raised his eyebrows. "You mentioned it once a month for our first five years," he snorted. "Don't think Pans and I didn't notice," he added. He sounded rather malicious to Draco.

"I am  _not smitten_ with Potter," he enunciated, glaring at Blaise. "You had _no_ just reason to set us up on that 'double date'. It was probably the most idiotic thing you've ever thought up."

Blaise snorted again and stifled a laugh. "Oh, no. It wasn't, actually. Gin says that Harry's actually interested in you." 

 _"He's what?"_ Draco breathed, his eyes widening. He felt his heart thump faster in his chest and his stomach knot itself into coils. _Potter actually..._

_No. He can't._

"Gotcha." Blaise winked. Draco wanted to smack him.

"You--you--"

"I actually don't know. She refuses to tell me what Potter thinks of you. She's having the same talk with him right now," Blaise explained, crossing his arms smugly.

Draco didn't respond, and instead mirrored his position and sulked.

"He thinks you're alright, at least. Didn't you see the smile when he was talking about you?" Blaise asked. Not helpfully.

"When he was talking about  _Dashing,"_ Draco corrected him. "And he was just mocking me, like the git he is."

Blaise unfolded his arms and looked at Draco curiously. "This  _is_ just like school. You're in denial and rolling in self pity. What happened to you, mate? You were doing so well." He scoffed.

"Potter happened!" Draco cried. "If you would just have  _kept him out of my life,_ then maybe, I wouldn't be having this problem!" He was pissed now. 

Blaise laughed heartily. "You think this is  _my_ fault?" he asked. "If anyone, blame the bloody  _dog,_ since you met him the first two times because of Dashing." He shook his head and continued chuckling.

Draco had enough of it.

"Leave, Blaise," he ordered. "I'm not in the mood to sulk over childhood enemies who I don't plan on seeing again." He ignored the fact that his voice cracked.

"You're such a drama queen," Blaise muttered, standing up to leave. "If you'd just admit you want to shag Potter, maybe you wouldn't be tearing yourself to shreds," he said cooly.

Draco stood and chucked a throw pillow at him. "I do  _not_ want to shag Potter!" he screeched.

But Blaise was gone. Dashing whimpered and trotted across the wood floor, his claws clicking along the way. He looked up at Draco in a curious way.  _Potter's not all that bad,_ he seemed to say.  _You're just being dramatic._

"Bloody hell." Draco sighed. "I need to stop projecting my emotions onto my dog."

 

 


	6. Work

It had been exactly one week since Draco's disastrous lunch with Potter. 

He had tried to push the terrible encounter out of his memory, but it was to no avail. Potter was stuck in his head because he was famous and funny and good... and Draco was a hopeless masochistic, angsty twenty-something year old gay man.

He really didn't stand a chance.

Dashing agreed with him, he knew. Dashing always knew best. 

Except for the proper time to get up. It was hardly six in the morning, and the animal had trotted up the stairs to lick his face and force him up for breakfast.  _You've work today! You must spend time with me before you leave!_

Draco wouldn't be gone long today. He wasn't taking a port key to some far off country with uncooperative magical residents, and the meeting wasn't bound to last forever. It would just be a meeting with his boss, the Head of International Affairs, the thousand year old Juliana Pashfarther.

She wasn't really that old. She just looked like it. Her mind was sharp as a whip, though, and it was as if she could sense whatever emotion was radiating off of you. She terrified Draco, but she liked him well enough, so he was usually late.

 _Outside! Outside!_ Dashing had jumped back off the bed and was standing in the threshold, wagging his tail.

"Fine, let's take you outside so you can piss." Draco muttered, rolling out of bed. His head was groggy, and he half stumbled down the staircase. He made his way to the back door, opening it wide. Dashing burst out the door, immediately rolling in the dew in the green, spring grass.

It was a big yard, seeing as Draco lived in the country. Dashing had plenty of space to run about and chase small creatures. The only reason they went to parks was so both of them could socialize. And Dashing loved new places.

The beast rolled around like a fool for several minutes before he actually finally did his business. Draco was still in his night clothes, and he stood out in the frigid pre-dawn air, his hands in his armpits for warmth and his feet freezing on the porch.

He didn't go inside, of course. He wasn't the kind of man to neglect his dog!

Some people called him obsessive, he knew. But he hadn't been raised to show any particular amount of respect to other living creatures, so Dashing was his way of proving to himself that he could. He refused to pain the dog in any manner, and if that meant freezing his arse off in his backyard before the sun was up, then so be it.

His mind played tricks on him as he stared into the shadows in the gray light. He saw shadowed figures, shards and scraps of traumatic memories from the War, hover in the trees and bushes. Things that weren't supposed to move moved, and he watched them closely and rationally, reminding himself that the rising sun would banish them.

Dashing finished his business, and Draco called him in. Shutting the door quickly behind them both, he went into the kitchen to get water for Dashing and tea for himself. He didn't need to leave for a few hours yet, and he could wait for breakfast.

The tea brewing in the kitchen, he sat in front of his hearth and read a book on potions theory to pass the time.

* * *

Before leaving to the Ministry, he made sure Dashing had plenty of water and dry food out for him. He left him several toys to entertain himself, and he had music playing in a guest room because he knew the pup enjoyed it. 

Double checking everything, he apparated himself to the point outside of the Ministry, near the phone booth. He entered it, and typed in the usual 62442. He picked up the phone.

"Draco Malfoy. International affairs," he told it, before any operator could ask. 

Despite the fact that he was  _technically_ a Ministry employee, he didn't work in the building, so on the rare occasion that he had to drop by, he used the Visitor's entrance. He had tried to talk to Pashfarther about giving him floo access, or perhaps allowing him to apparate into the Atrium (as people did again now that Voldemort had been vanquished). There were still a few people in the Ministry who were squeamish over his Dark Mark, however, so he had not been granted unlimited access.

The Mark had faded to a scar, anyway, so he didn't know what people were so worried about. He had proven himself innocent. Hell, even Potter thought he was decent.

It didn't matter, though. He still had to take the telephone booth like the average plebeian. Once he had exited the phone booth and had been taken down below to the Atrium, he cast a cleaning charm on his hands. He never liked to think about how many other people had touched that phone...

He made his way through the fray of people, dressed in robes of all colors. The ambient chatter around him made his head buzz, and he wanted to cast a silencing charm around himself so he wouldn't have to hear it. The more paranoid part of him told him to suck it up and stay alert. 

He quickly made his way to the nearest elevator, just before the door closed. There were several violet paper airplanes floating around him, and a tall witch in florescent green robes stood next to him.

"What level are you headed to?" she inquired casually.

He looked up at her. "Five. International," he replied curtly, instead choosing to stare at the papers flying around him.

"Three." She replied.

The Atrium was level eight, so Draco got out first. He cast a quick tempus charm and saw that if he ran, he could make it five minutes early to Pashfarther's office. He broke into a dash, earning several harsh glances from the grim-looking court members gracing the halls.

Pashfarther was waiting for him. "You're almost late, Malfoy," she told him in a surprisingly cheerful tone.

"Not so, ma'am." He was panting from exertion. "I'm six minutes early," he corrected her.

"So, almost late. Sit down, Mr. Malfoy," she ordered. "I'm a busy woman. I have a meeting with the Minister in fifteen minutes regarding the new Mongolian trade policies, and I would not like to miss it."

Draco sat down immediately. "I don't blame you, ma'am. I could talk for hours about Mongolia and their ridiculous policies," he replied, completely serious. He had had several run-ins with them in the past few months, and he considered them a complete pain in the arse.

"Well, don't; you're avoiding the topic," the small, ancient woman snapped. "And I hope you don't try to maintain this _small talk_ when you're out on the job!"

Draco gave her a charming smile. "Small talk is how you get people to listen to you, Madam Pashfarther," he said sweetly.

"Shut it, Malfoy. We both know you're an icy arse, and I won't have any of these pretty boy antics." She smashed her fist onto the desk, her gray-blue robes swishing in the air.

Draco smirked. He knew she loved him anyway, even when he felt like being out of character. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't _not_ snark me." She rolled her eyes. "And don't deny that you want to. I know you, Malfoy."

He didn't respond, lest she waste more of her precious time reprimanding him. He would have to deny her that, even if scolding him was her favorite part of the day. He was fairly certain that was the only reason she ever wanted him in the office. No matter what he did, she would lecture him. She usually favored him for his curt humor.

"How was the last job?" she questioned.

"Resolved. It took longer than expected, but it was resolved." It had been a living nightmare, and he had been freezing, and he didn't speak the language, but it had been resolved.

"And?" 

"And they served me wonderful tea...?" 

She never cared to know the  _political_ details of his trips, as she received written reports and transcripts. She always wanted to check on how he had enjoyed it or what he had done or how he had been treated. She was like a great-great-great-grandmother-in-law, for as much as she claimed to hate "small talk."

She scowled. "That's all? That was the highlight of your visit?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "I'm not there to vacation, ma'am," he muttered.

"Did anything happen?" 

"A few former Death Eaters spotted me in the market. It made me uneasy, so I tried not to dawdle," he informed her. "Besides, I had my dog waiting at home." 

She scoffed. "Oh, right-- _the dog._ Why doesn't your husband take care of him?" She snickered, knowing full well he had never been married.

"I don't have one," he replied patiently.

She laughed. "Yes! Because you're too bloody busy pampering that  _dog_ like it's a child!" she cried. "You have no life, so it's up to generous souls like me to owl the resident handsome young politician to take you to dinner.  _Which_ you never show up to half the time." She threw him a helpless look.

Draco rolled his eyes at the old witch, who was pretending to sob into her desk. "I don't need your help, ma'am. I'm just an employee."

"Who doesn't know how take advantage of his youth," she snapped, sitting up. Her violet eyes were kindling some sort of desperation. "For my sake, Malfoy, get a boyfriend!"

"Your sake, ma'am?" He chuckled. 

"Yes, boy. You're lonely. You'll do better on the job if you have someone to share it with," she added. She looked at the clock behind him, and frowned.

"As much as I would love to lecture you on living, I have a meeting with the Minister," she informed him. "And next month, we have the annual International Staff Dinner Party. If you don't find a date by then, you  _will_ be going with Councilman Garner."

"Yes, ma'am." He sighed resignedly. Garner was Draco's age, though he was quite unattractive. And boring. And a snob.

"And this time, you can't refuse because of 'discrimination against your sexuality,' because I  _know better."_ She shooed him out with a hand. "Go. Be free. Find love and happiness. And a dog sitter."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Will do, Pashfarther. Stay old, stay snappy." He winked at her, exiting the room.

"There's my snarky bastard!" she called after him.

He was gone, and he was headed back to the lift. He was going back to the Atrium, and he saw an open lift just about to close. There was someone else in it, but they had they were staring at the side of the lift, their figure obscured by flowing, grey robes. Draco slid in next to them just as the doors were closing, and heaved a sigh of relief.

He cast a wary glance at the odd figure next to him, but chose to look away, humming something quietly to himself.

The person turned to face them, and he tried to ignore them, looking away.

"Don't ignore me, you git," they said, rather rudely.

Draco turned to face them. "Excuse--" he broke off as he realized who it was. "What the hell, Potter?" he cried, regarding the mysterious gray robes with confusion.

"Hullo to you, too," Potter mumbled. "Though I thought we might be on better terms after our lunch date." He crossed his arms and looked away.

"The lunch date was a bloody disaster, Potter," Draco snapped, glaring at him. He really wanted to get out of the lift. He did not need to talk to Potter. Or be anywhere near him. He felt embarrassed and miserable just looking at him and remembering the thoughts he'd had recently.

Potter sighed and looked at Draco again, raising an eyebrow. "Want to have another go at it, then?" he inquired.

"What?" 

"Would you like to have lunch with me?" Potter asked, more slowly. "I don't have to go back to work for another hour, if you don't have to be anywhere." He shrugged.

The doors finally opened to the brightly colored Atrium, and they both stepped out. Draco found himself  _following_ Potter.

"Why would you want to do that?" Draco demanded, his long stride easily keeping pace.

"I thought perhaps this time it might not be such a disaster," Potter suggested innocently. "You're not that bad when Blaise and Ginny aren't there tormenting your pride," he added with a chuckle.

"I am  _so_ bad!" Draco protested. "Don't even  _try_ and call me decent, Potter. It's wrong. Unnatural." He sniffed, secretly hoping that Potter  _would_ compliment him. Just because he liked having his ego stroked. Nothing more, of course.

Potter just laughed. "If you come to lunch with me, I'll prove you wrong. You might just be a fine man after all," he said teasingly.

And who was Draco to deny being pursued?

"Fine, Potter." Draco sighed dramatically. "But only because you offer me no other choice. Where to?"

"Right here," Potter replied, pointing to a small cafe in the Atrium called 'Ministry Munchies'. "And don't call me that," he added.

"Call you Potter?" Draco repeated. "It's your name." He frowned.

"You bloody well know it's Harry," he replied, his grey robes swishing and flowing akin to a dementor's as he led Draco to the counter of Ministry Munchies (which was a most undignified name).

"I've yet to hear you call me 'Draco.'" Draco sniffed.

"What do you want for lunch, Draco?" Potter inquired, pointing at a menu sign. "I'll pay," he added.

Draco ignored his smug tone. "Whatever you're having, I suppose," he muttered.

Potter smirked, and then turned to the young man at the counter. "Two turkey sandwiches," he said, sending Draco a sneaky sideways glance. "Because I know you hate silverware," he snickered.

"Off to a bad start,  _Harry."_ Draco warned him, frowning as the boy at the counter flicked his wand and assembled the sandwiches in seconds, levitating them onto plates. He followed Potter off to a table, and sat down across from him.

Potter bit into his sandwich. "So," he asked through a mouthful of it, "what're you doing here today?" 

"Working. I'm International Affairs," he replied, tentatively smelling the sandwich. It was cold, but the bread felt fresh and the meat didn't smell to foul. He picked it up and gingerly took a bite.

Potter grimaced. "Don't be such a pansy about it," he insisted, watching Draco eat with narrowed eyes. "It's just a sandwich."

"Shut it, Po--Harry."

Potter shrugged. "So, International Affairs? What do you do there? I haven't seen you around here before." He took another ridiculously huge bite of food. He chewed it loudly, probably just to peeve Draco.

At least his mouth was shut as he ate.

"I'm a diplomat. I don't need to work in the building."

"Interesting," Potter mumbled.

Draco didn't dignify him with a response.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I do?" Potter asked, tilting his head.

Draco scowled. "Perhaps. This may surprise you, P-- _Harry_ , but I'm not like those bloody reporters or fangirls who want to know about every bit of your existence."

Potter shrugged happily. "I'm an Unspeakable. So, I don't get many reporters  _or_ fangirls. Ministry protocol," he added with a grin.

"So, you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"The attention, Potter," he clarified, not even bothering to correct himself. "You live to be in the spotlight, don't you?"

Potter frowned. "I don't know why you've always thought that, Draco," he muttered, "considering most of the press I got was false or negative or having to do with anything  _good_ I've done."

"So, the famed Boy Who Lived  _doesn't_ like the attention?" he asked. "What a bloody waste."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "I don't like it  _because_ I'm the Boy Who Lived. And  _definitely_ don't call me that," he added with a sigh.

"I don't understand."

"Draco," Potter exhaled, dropping his sandwich onto his plate. "My entire life, people have adored me for being something I'm not. These past two years as an Unspeakable have been the only time I felt like I had a  _life_ outside of my 'destiny'. It's the first time I've been able to have a private life."

Draco knitted his eyebrows. "Interesting."

Potter chuckled. "Maybe next time I'll learn something about you," he said, finishing off his sandwich. "Sadly, however, I just realized I forgot to get something from the DMLE." He stood up, and turned to leave. 

"Next time?" Draco inquired, feeling sad their meeting had been cut short.

Potter looked back at him over his shoulder. "Of course." He grinned. "I'll owl you. I have ways of finding your address."

Draco raised both eyebrows. "Alright."

"See you, Malfoy," he chirped, walking away.

Draco watched him go with relish and remorse. At least this date hadn't gone as badly.


	7. Friends

"It was  _not_ a date," Draco protested adamantly, waving his hands around in the air. "We just sat at the Ministry snack shop. And talked."

He could have been in denial. But he thoroughly believed the fantasy he had cooked up in the ensuing days after meeting Potter was true. Potter hated him, and everything he did was just Potter being Potter.

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Yes, of course Harry didn't want it to be a date." He rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's why he asked you--what was it?-- _four times_ to come and have lunch with him. Because he thought you _might_ be pleasant."

"Exactly!" Draco exclaimed, nodding vehemently. "He just saw me in the elevator; it's not like he tracked me down or anything. And he was lonely, being very Potter-like, and he wanted attention." He smiled to himself, firmly believing his own story.

"Draco," Neville shot him a painstaking glance, "didn't he try to tell you that he _hated_ attention?" he inquired, placing his tall glass of strong-smelling alcohol onto the varnished wood counter with a soft  _clunk._

Draco wasn't drinking anything. He didn't need anything to intoxicate him and make him start spouting more nonsense about Potter than he'd already done. He couldn't stop thinking about it... Didn't Potter hate him? Where was all this coming from?

He crossed his arms in reply. "Don't make this more complicated for me, Neville," he pouted. "I'm trying to figure this out. This isn't like the Potter I know at _all."_

"Maybe that's because you don't actually know him?" Neville suggested quietly, a small, sympathetic smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, and _you_ do?" Draco scoffed. 

Of course _Draco_ knew Potter... He'd spent his fifth year practically obsessing over him. He read all the articles on Potter, too--he was _not_ thinking about that drawer right now, though--and he'd went to school with him. Of _course_ he knew Potter.

But, Neville? Draco never saw Potter mouth a single word to Neville!

"Yes, I do know him, actually." Neville laughed. "Better than you, I'd say," he murmured, raising the mug to his lips. 

Draco gave him a scandalized look. _Stupid Gryffindor._

"Bollocks, Nev. We've been friends for, what, three years? We've had more close conversations than you and Potter ever had." He scoffed. "Potter doesn't have time for anyone  _normal,_ like you and I."

Neville almost took a spit take, slamming the glass down hard. "Do you hear yourself, Draco?" He inquired. He shook his head and looked at Draco like he was a fool. "I lived with Harry for _six years._ I fought for and with him in the War," he reminded Draco. "No offense, mate, but I didn't even know you were a decent person until three years ago. And we never do anything besides meet here, anyway."

Draco rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You haven't seen Potter since after school, though. I bet he's changed a lot since then. You can't know how he flirts! Not anymore!"

A scowl appeared on the Gryffindor's face. "Harry's a reserved person, Draco. He wouldn't be trying to invest time in you if he weren't interested." 

Draco groaned, dropping his face onto the table. "Stop being so practical, Neville."

He chuckled. "Did you want advice or not?" he inquired, watching Draco with curious amusement.

"I want to stop feeling things," Draco groaned. "Potter's in my head, and he's making me feel miserable."

"Well, that's nothing new." Neville smirked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, propping himself up again.

"Oh, c'mon, Draco," Neville said coyly. "We all know how you felt about Harry in school. Rumor has it that all the Slytherins thought it was so funny that they started setting your common room's password to--"

"Don't you dare, Longbottom!"

"--things like  _I want to shag Harry Potter_ just because they knew you would refuse to say it!" He cackled, looking at Draco with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

Draco turned red. That was the  _least_ offensive of all of them. And Snape hadn't even stood up for him over it; he thought they might 'teach him a lesson' and it might 'ebb his obsession'.

"Because I hated him!" he wailed. "That was the only reason why."

"Bollocks!" Neville wheezed, his laughing never ceasing. "I bet that all you've ever wanted was to get close to Potter."

"Nonsense! He was--" He shook his head, breaking off. "I wouldn't go near him with a ten foot broomstick, Neville."

Neville snickered. "Wow, mate. I didn't know this was about your  _insecurities,"_ he commented. "But you do know that a ten foot broomstick wouldn't even be fun, don't you?"

Draco took a gasp. "Neville!"

"Relax, mate." He grinned. "Just trying to lighten the mood. You're being pretty... awful about this." 

Draco supposed he was right. He'd been rude to Blaise, rude to Potter, now rude to Neville...

"It's a wonder I have any friends," he said aloud, staring at the table. "Thanks for putting up with me, Nev. And for trying so hard," he added, suddenly feeling uneasy about... everything. _Not helping._

Neville's eyebrows shot up. "Malfoy. We all know you're still... Malfoy. And Harry just brings out the stupid in you, which makes you even worse," he explained, leaning forward across the table to give Draco a closer look. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked scrutinizing. 

"Oh. Thanks, Longbottom. Way to make me feel special." He sighed.

"Just trying to help you out, mate. You've got an ego of its own, despite the fact you seem to be deliberately trying to put yourself down." He paused, looking at him curiously. "You've got a Potter complex," he said decisively.

"Since when are you a therapist?" Draco muttered. "And what does that even _mean?"_

Neville beamed at him. "Figure it out. Bet you a date with Harry might help," he said with a wink. "Given from what he said, I reckon you'll have an owl from him any time now."

"Don't you think that it was a bit... stalkerish of him, though?" Draco asked. "Or am I the only crazy one?"

Neville downed the last bit of his drink. "You're being sensitive again. Just go on the date with Harry."

"But it's not a date!"

"And maybe, if you'd stop saying that to yourself, you'd actually have a brain and you wouldn't be acting so barking mad," Neville suggested. 

"I--"

"Oh, look at the time!" Neville announched, looking at his wrist. "Sorry, Draco, but you're not the only insane friend of mine I have to counsel. Got a meeting with, er, someone else." He stood up hastily. "See you next week!"

"You should charge people!" Draco called after him.

"I do-- the drink's on you!" Neville replied before he was out the door.

Draco grimaced and stared down at the tabletop, then resigned to go and pay for Neville's drink. It was worth the twelve sickles, he decided. He needed to work on being a better friend.

* * *

Blaise was, once again, waiting for Draco in his sitting room.

"What're you doing here?" he demanded, half-amused and half-concerned.

"Keeping your dog company," Blaise replied dryly, unenthusiastically scratching Dashing's head. "You're gone a lot more often than I thought," he added with frown.

Draco plopped down next to him. "Contrary to popular belief," he muttered, "I  _do_ have a life. You know I go out for drinks with Neville on Fridays," he added, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

"Oh. Right," Blaise mumbled. "Sorry. I've been a bit smitten with Gin lately," he confessed.

"Yeah, I noticed." Draco huffed. "Why else would you think it was a good idea to set me up with Potter?" he inquired, nudging his friend in the ribs.

Blaise shot him a death glare. "If you're still not over that," he warned him, "I will leave. Right now." He braced himself as if he was ready to run into the floo, and Dashing crouched down and thumped his tail eagerly. He probably thought he was in for a game of chase.

"I'm over it," Draco assured him. "Neville convinced me I was being stupid," he added with a grin. "I mean, I'm still really confused as to why Potter took me out  _again--"_

"Wait." Blaise interrupted him. He smacked his forehead, and suddenly he smiled. "Ohhh!" he exclaimed. "Then _this_ makes a lot more sense," he smirked, dangling an envelope with a broken wax-seal in front of Draco.

"You opened my post?" Draco hissed, snatching the letter away.

Blaise laughed. "Obviously. It looked to interesting. I mean, look at the seal!" 

"That could have been secret international affairs information." Draco snapped, pulling the letter out in tact. There was no address or signature on it.

> _Fun seeing you. How about Sunday for brunch at the General Hen's Coup in Carkitt? You seem like a brunch guy to me. They take dogs, too._
> 
> _See you soon._

He probably looked like a dunce, staring and smiling at the letter like that. But, Neville had a point. Everyone already knew how he felt, or thought they knew. Especially Blaise.

"But it wasn't international affairs, was it? It was Potter." Blaise snickered. "And you were so worked up the other day over it, too!" He cackled.

"Yeah. And then he took me for a mini date. And I needed Neville to revive me from my stupor and tell me I hadn't just made the whole thing up," Draco mumbled.

"So, you  _are_ into Potter," Blaise inferred.

"Possibly."

He had a feeling Blaise and his Weaselette had put money on this. He wasn't going to let them win so soon. 

Blaise just grinned. "Excellent. Gin and I will schedule the wedding," he teased.

Draco tried to hide his blush. "You know I don't move fast, Blaise, old boy," he said quietly.

Dashing let out a loud, whiny yelp in agreement, at which both men laughed at. Dashing just continued to wag his tail and whine.

"Let's take him outside, okay?" Draco laughed. "You riled him up."

Blaise scoffed. "That's what Ginny kept saying when we had to deal with you and Potter together."

Draco just laughed at him, imagining that brunch would be much less tense this time. 

_Potter thinks I do better without an audience._

_Gah. I didn't mean it like that._

_Gods._

_Dammit, Potter._

 


	8. A Brunch Kind Of Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've noticed any weird typos, it's because I've been having to write on mobile lately...Long story. Anyway, please enjoy.

The weekend came fast, and before Draco knew it, he was putting Dashing on his leash to take him to the dog-friendly brunch to meet with Potter. Dashing was happy to go out so long as he didn't think it was the vet, so he happily followed along. 

Draco wasn't sure if he was more excited or nervous. After all the pep talks he'd been given, he thought he might think he had nothing to worry about. But doubt still resided predominately in his mind, and he had no idea if Potter was interested in him, if he was investigating him, or if this was all some sort of grand joke. 

Potter _did_ have an alarming sense of humor, but it wasn't a malicious one, was it? Draco thought that his own former self would prank date someone, but he didn't think Potter would. 

So, either Potter was genuinely interested (romantic or otherwise), or Draco was under suspicion of something by the Department of Mysteries. 

His thoughts fell back into a loop in the back of his mind when he saw Potter waiting for him outside on the restaurant's patio. He was dressed in muggle clothes, and that freaky bird Feldspar was sitting on his shoulder. He waved Draco over with a friendly grin. 

"I was worried you'd shown me up," he chuckled as Draco drew near. He stood, and the winged menace on his shoulder flapped its wings in greeting. Dashing wagged his tail. 

"And miss free brunch? Never, Potter. Never." Draco passed through the gate and entered the patio, taking the seat across from Potter. It was surprisingly sunny, if not with a slight chill, so it was fine weather for outdoor seating.

"Who said it was free?" Potter sat down next to him, and the bird squawked loudly. Dashing took his place under the table. 

Draco faux-scowled. "Oh, I just assumed that after tracking me down, choosing the venue, and giving me verly little in the choice of attending, you'd show the chivalry to pay." He took a sip of the water that was out waiting. "I should have expected less, of course. You never were one for manners."

Potter laughed, and the bird hopped off of his shoulder onto the patio fence. "Fine, you've got me, Draco. I'll work on being a better date. In the meantime, maybe you could work on calling me Harry?" He had a hopeful look on his face.

Draco wasn't sure what the emotion coiling in his own gut was.

He shot him a smile all the same. "Fine, Harry." The name felt strange on his tongue. "May I ask why all the venues we meet at seem to be red?" 

It was true, of course. Just like the places they met for lunch, the brunch place was predominately red-themed. The roof of the building was red, and so was the patio fence and the gate. The menus were red, as well. Everything else was a pleasant cream color.

"Hmm, I dunno." Potter shrugged. "I _do_ like the color red. Maybe you'll choose the next place, and it won't be the same color," he suggested.

The waiter arrived then, and he shot them both a staged smile. "Anything to drink for you, sirs?"

Draco let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, well, I suppose it's too early for alcohol, so I'll have to tolerate you some other way." He gave Potter a meaningful look (even if he didn't mean it). "I don't know exactly what I want," he confessed.

"Well, I was right about you being a brunch kind of man," Potter returned the look, "so I'll order your drink. Two hot chocolates, please," he told the waiter, who wrote it down and let them be. 

"I'll bring you some water for the pup, too," he added over his shoulder. He didn't seem to mind the bird at all; Draco wondered if Potter was a regular.

Draco crossed his arms over the table. "It's April. And it's sunny out." He avoided saying either Potter or Harry. 

Potter grinned cheekily, and the bird bobbed his head in agreement. "Come on, Draco. There's no rules to drinking hot chocolate. Besides,"--he was staring rather intensely now--"you look cold."

And Draco had to admit he did like hot chocolate, as muggle of a drink it was. "Fair enough."

The waiter came back with a shiny dish of water for Dashing, promising he'd be back in a few minutes for their order.

"So, what'll you order?" Potter gestured to Draco's menu, which he had yet to open. 

"Well, I'm sure they don't have duck omelets or brioche quiches, so I'm afraid I'll settle for waffles. Unless you only enjoy crass locations that can't even supply _that_." He sniffed, squeezing his lemon into his water.

Potter frowned, apparently unsure of the insult. "Wait"--he tilted his head in confusion--"you don't actually eat those things, do you?" 

Draco couldn't help but laugh. "No, Potter, I don't." He heard Dashing begin to lap at the water dish beneath the table. "I'm just trying to fulfill the image you have of me," he added, bending under the table to give the dog some attention.

Potter, evidently dumbfounded, stammered for a moment. "Well, don't." He settled down as Draco rose back to table level. "I don't like people who pretend." 

"You'll have a hard time finding people who don't," Draco leveled. "Do I get to see the real Harry Potter, then? I suppose I'm not seeing you play out to my expectations. You haven't been too brash or humiliating."

Potter laughed. "Read me like a book," he challenged.

"Book!" Feldspar, the ferocious feathered fury, repeated.

Draco jumped and shuddered. "Your bird disturbs me." He glared at it, and it preened its feathers.

Potter raised his eyebrows. "They say people tend to dislike whom they see themselves in," he countered. "But I can't see why he frightens you so much. He's really just a big softy, he just pretends to be all macho."

"And that's where the similarities between that bird and I end," Draco huffed, but Potter didn't look convinced. He wondered why Potter would want his bird to be like him. 

The waiter arrived and took their orders and gave them their hot chocolates. Draco's waffles came with spring strawberries (probably to fit with the red theme), as did Potter's French toast.

"Do you eat that like a sandwich, too?" Draco scoffed, noticing his preference for bread-based foods.

Potter paused pensively, sipping--no, slurping--at his drink. "Hmm, that might not be a bad idea. Would it annoy you?" 

Draco scowled as the bird chattered noisily. It was mocking him, he knew it. 

"It would, actually." 

Potter just snickered.

He sighed in response, starting his own drink. "Well," he decided to change the topic, "how's work been? I see you ditched the robes."

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Potter whispered urgently, with a stupid smile lot on his face. Draco didn't get it.

"Fine." Draco rolled his eyes. "What have you been doing besides working?" he inquired.

Potter shifted his position as Dashing places his head in the man's lap; Draco could see his ears poking up from the edge of the table. Porter grinned and scratched the dog's ears.

"Well, er, I spend a lot of time with Feldspar. He comes to work a lot with me, of course." When Potter said that, Draco thought that the bird probably had some sort of value to the Department of Mysteries. It was a magical bird... But what could it do? Besides stare into one's soul and mimick human speech? 

"People say I spend too much time with him," Potter continued with a laugh.

"Oh, I know!" Draco interrupted with a groan. "Everyone is always telling me I need to get a life separate from Dashing. They think I spend too much time with him."

"You too, then?" Potter asked. "Isn't it the worst when--"

"They tell you he's _just_ an animal?" They both finished at the same time. They began to laugh with each other.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad," Potter concluded, and Feldspar hopped onto his shoulder and nibbled his ear.

"Special! Special!" the bird cooed quietly into Potter's ear.

"Yes, you're very special, buddy," Potter assured it, rubbing the back of its head with a finger. 

Draco watched with disgust and intrigue. "How did you teach it--him, sorry--how to speak like that?" he inquired.

"Didn't have to," Potter relplied. "He's very, very smart. Aren't you, boy?" he asked the bird, who let out some soft whistling. Dashing responded with a whine from under the table, and Draco obliged him with a few head scratches.

Not long afterwards, the food arrived. Draco didn't spot it before the bird did, though.

"Food!" it screeched, bobbing on Potter's shoulder. "Food!"

The waiter gave it a wary eye, and Potter whistled at it and it calmed itself. The food was served without further incidence.

Until the waiter was gone. Draco's plate was assaulted by Feldspar, which attacked his waffles and surprisingly ignored the bright berries. Draco beat it away with a wave of his hand, and it retreated back to the fence to eye the food from a distance. Draco was revolted.

"Isn't that unsanitary? Will I catch bired flu?" he cried, staring down at his plate in disgust and shock.

Potter snorted, and broke off a piece of his battered toast to feed to the bird, which waited with beady black eyes. "He hardly touched it. And the healers said he was perfectly healthy," Potter added, drizzling a piece of toast with syrup. He sandwiched the berries and ate it with his hands, just to irk Draco.

"Ugh, Potter," Draco groaned, poking at his food with a fork. "You are vile. A barbarian. Raised by wolves," he added, in case he hadn't made his point.

Potter shrugged. "I'm just being the person you expect me to be," he returned, taking a large bite into his sandwich. 

Draco sighed, and cut at his food, finally admitting defeat and taking a bite. "Fine," he spoke deliberately around a mouthful, "no more of that. I suppose that we're both more pleasant than we percieve the other." 

Potter smirked, set down the grotesque french toast sandwich, and cast a wandless cleaning charm on his hands. He picked up a fork and knife and began eating normally, occasionally handing a piece to the bird. They ate in silence, and Draco even snuck one of Potter's sausages to feed to Dashing.

"So," Potter said at last. "Next time we can just be ourselves?"

Draco nodded and set down his silverware. "Yes. But there's _only_ a next time because I want to see if a Potter can act sophisticated."

Potter grinned. "Brilliant." He clasped his hands on the table. "I'm no expert in etiquette... But how about dinner? You can choose where." 

"Fine," Draco conceded, pausing to think for a moment. "Six o'clock Wednesday at the Zion in London; it's the only one, you'll know where. Wear something sharp, muggle," he said curtly. "I'll pay."

He only _just_  refrained from making a comment on Potter's financial situation--he knew Sirius Black had made sure he inherited his money after Bellatrix died, and Lucius had been furious Narcissa didn't recieve it. Potter was well off. 

He blinked, probably surprised at Draco's promptness. "Sounds brilliant," he murmured.

"Excellent, Potter." Draco stood up and untied Dashing's leash, and turned to leave Potter the check.

"Wait, Draco," Potter called out. "I told you to call me Harry."

Draco turned his head. "Maybe I will," he replied casually, "if you can behave yourself at dinner." He smirked, and turned to walk away.

 _And he better,_ he thought, _if I'm to have my preffered date to the International Affairs Department Dinner._

He would probably ask him regardless, of course... But Potter didn't need to know that. Draco wanted Potter to think he had to win him over.

He couldn't let it get to Potter's already swollen head that he had won him over years ago in school. That wouldn't be fun at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's generally a bad idea to feed an Amazon people food, but they have very voracious appetites. Harry spoils him.


	9. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco and Pansy are close enough to be completely honest about the Potter situation.

Tuesday morning, Draco had an owl waiting for him from Pashfarther. 

> _Mr. Malfoy,_
> 
> _I do hope you've been trying to secure a date for next month. I realize it's hardly been a week, but I worry for you (and if you ever repeat that, expect to be sent back to Greenland for a three month trip). You're a handsome young man, you shouldn't be wasting your days playing literal fetch with a literal dog. Playing fetch after some young man's wiles would be much more fitting for someone like you..._
> 
> _But I digress. Make sure you put yourself out there. For my sake?_
> 
> _May you never forget my wrath,_
> 
> _Your dearest boss,_
> 
> _Madam Pashfarther_

Draco chuckled as he read it aloud, absently flicking his wand to get the kettle going. "She's mad, isn't she?" He asked Dashing, who was happily scarfing down his breakfast. 

"Oh, won't she be thrilled when she sees Harry Potter on my arm next month." He sighed, leaning over the edge of his counter. "Do you think anyone ever expected this? That Potter mighy actually be... pursuing me? Besides Pansy?"

His mentality was constantly swinging back and forth. One minute, he was forlorn and convinced Potter was out to get him. The next, he was overjoyed that all his teenage fantasies were coming true. It was a cruel cycle. 

He hummed as he cooked himself some porridge. He thought he might stop by and visit Pansy today. He didn't always enjoy her--she could be a bit much. But she would love the gossip, if Blaise hadn't already told her.

He sat down at his counter and had his food, cleaning up after both him and Dashing when he had finished. Then, he fire called Pansy.

His eyes itched, and he almost sneezed. "Pans!" he called. "It's Draco. Are you home?"

No response. She must have been asleep, he decided, because last he checked she was only gone in the evenings, for school. He climbed through the floo and dusted himself off.

"Paaannnnsyyy!" he called. "I know you're home!" 

He heard some stumbling, and a head poked out from behind a doorway in the hall.

"What time is it?" she hissed, retreating back into her room. "The sun's hardly up."

"Sorry, darling," Draco huffed. "You ought to get your sleep schedule on track." He approached her room, where she was already back on her bed and wrapped in a pile of purple blankets.

"Like I can with school." She snapped, burying herself completely. "I could have had a girl over!" 

Draco chuckled and plopped himself on the end of the bed. "Likely. What's it you're always saying? Career first?" He shook his head. "When was the last time you had a date?"

She sat up immediately and threw a pillow at him. "Like you're one to talk! I'm working hard to become a lawyer; I _have_ an excuse. You just sit around playing with your dog and get paid by the Ministry to travel."

"Well, then you'd be happy to know I have a date this Wednesday," he countered. 

She gaped, needing a moment to absorb the information. Then, she grinned like a fool. "Thank gods you have a reason for waking me!" She smacked him on the arm. "Who is it?"

He laid himself on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Guess. You've thought of it before," he hinted. She would figure it out.

Pansy frowned in thought. "Your Longbottom friend?" she inquired.

"No!" Draco sat up and stared at her agape. "No, no, no!" Neviile was _just_ a friend. His definitely straight working buddy.

"Fine, fine." She shook her head and paused a moment longer. "That handsome French man from the Ministry?"

Draco groaned, remembering that flop of a date with disdain. "No, Parkinson. Think further back than that."

She narrowed her eyes. "How far are we talking?" she asked cautiously.

"Hmm," he laid back down, bracing himself. "Fifth year?" he suggested. 

"No," she gasped, apparently realizing inmediately. "Potter?!" She let out a squeal and began bouncing when he grunted in confirmation.

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" She leaned over him and shook his shoulders, pulling him upright. "You love Potter! I knew it! I _told_ you!"

Draco just sighed. "You mean Blaise didn't tell you?"

"No!" zhe exclaimed. "I would remember! What does Blaise know?" she demanded, flopping onto her back.

"Blaise put us on a double date with him and Ginerva Weasely. Did you know they were together?"

"Of course I knew! But why didn't I know Blaise set you up with your dream man?" 

Draco rolled his eyes. "He's not my _dream man._ And he didn't set us up. We met several times beforehand. Blaise probably just made it worse." He snorted. 

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "You mean you had _met_ met several times, or you just ran into each other?"

"Ran into each other," he clarified with a huff. 

A snide look grew on her face. "I don't think you would have ended up going on a date if Blaise hadn't initiated it," she snickered. 

"Fine, fine," he mumbled.

She climbed out of the bed, beckoning for him to follow. "So"--she yawned once they were down the hall and in her sitting room--"what do you think of all this if he's not your dream man? You look pretty pleased with yourself." 

He hovered behind one of the sofas, pausing hesitantly to think. He was pleased, wasn't he? But he was also nervous that he was making a bigger deal out of it than it was. 

"I'm cautious," he confessed. "He's still Potter, after all. And the bird is terrifying." 

"Bird?" Pansy inquired, passing through a doorway to enter into the kitchen and go out of his sight.

He heard the sound of running water and the clanking of dishes. He followed her there and leaned against the doorframe. He thought the wall separating the two rooms was ridiculous, but what did he know?

"Potter has a bird. Says it's an Amazon? It's a vicious, showy, food stealing, talking demon creature. I think it's got some kind of magic infused in it," he muttered, thinking of it's suspicious level of intelligent. 

Pansy giggle-snorted into a glass of water. "Since when have you had problems with some extra magic?" 

He walked over to the cabinet after her and got his own glass, pulling his wand out of his pocket and filling it using _Augamenti_  just to make a point. "I don't," he replied, pointing to the water and taking a swallow. "But there are some things that don't need it. That bird disturbs me."

"What's its name?" she inquired, spinning in a circle as if looking for something. "Damn," she grunted. "Where's my wand?"

Draco rolled his eyes. " _Accio_ Pansy's wand." It came whizzing into his hand. "And its name is Feldspar, if it really matters to you." 

She snatched the wand from his hand and tucked it into the pocket of her purple plaid pajamas. "That's an excellent name for a bird," she muttered sarcastically. "When did we start allowing Potter to name things? What does that even mean?"

"Why does it matter, Pans? It's a kind of mineral."

She glared at him. "Names matter! Dashings' name has a meaning. You didn't just name him after a rock." She spun on her socks and made her way to the other counter, pulling a piece of fruit out of a basket and taking a bite. 

"Pans, why do you care? Don't you want to hear about the dates? Not about his bird?" He thought she could be a bit strange at times like this, becoming focused on a single detail.

"Names matter, Draco. You know that! You're a Malfoy; that name matters to people. Just like Potter's name will always precede him. You can't just avoid names," she muttered, taking another decisive bite.

"What's this about, Pansy?" he demanded, watching her closely.

She absently slid one socked foot over the slick kitchen floor. "I'm just worried, Draco." She sighed. "You're right to be cautious. He _is_ still Potter. And what does that mean to you? I mean, yes, I understand this is something to be happy over... But what does this mean? What will people think?" She shook her head, crossing the kitchen to give Draco a hug.

"It's fine, Pansy." He patted her back. "I really don't think its anything to worry about now. It's just dinner, after all," he reminded her.

"Just dinner?" She laughed quietly. "Fine, Draco. If it's _just_ dinner with Potter... I'm sure the press won't explode with conspiracy theories. Not at all."

He pulled away and put a hand on her shoulder. "He's an Unspeakable. They're practically forbidden to report on him." He smiled assuringly.

"Oh, gods, Draco." She rolled her eyes. "What have you gotten yourself into?" 

 "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, pouting under her scrutinizing gaze. 

"Harry Potter, the mysterious and charming unspeakable." She rolled her eyes again. "How ever did he win you over, I wonder?"

Draco grinned at her. "He cornered me in a Ministry lift and dragged me off to a re-do lunch." 

She nearly gaped at him. "Wait... So it was Potter initiating this? Not you?"

"Perhaps if you'd listened instead of rambling about names," he teased her, "you'd know that." He paused for dramatic effect, and added, "He also tracked down my address to owl me and invite me to lunch. And he's paid every time."

Pansy completelt gaped at him now. "And this is the same Potter whose face you smashed in sixth year? Who sliced up your chest in a bathroom? He's the one pursuing _you?"_

Draco grinned. "That's right, Pans. He doesn't hate me anymore. You remember the trial? He even testified for me." He was suddenly feeling very confident. 

Pansy frowned thoughtfully. "Draco, darling," she said cautiously, "don't get your hopes up. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I told you, I've nothing to worry about!" He assured her. "I'll be fine. And it's not like Potter matters that much to me..."

She smiled sadly and pulled him into another hug. "He better not," she told him firmly. "Because I'm not exactly sure--"

"You can never be sure about anything," he interrupted her. He was finally at the acceptance stage of the Potter situation. He didn't want to ruin it. He had done his denying, his bargaining, his grieving... He could accept that he wanted Potter to pursue him. 

And it was by no means a problem that Potter wanted to pursue _him_ , either. 

"Draco, given what you just said, I think it's perfectly logical to assume that--"

"Hush, Pansy." He cut her off again with a grin. "Don't spoil my mood."

Pansy just sighed loudly, and left Draco to have his fun. 


	10. At the Zion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long to update! I've been busy with school and was without Internet connection for a while.

"It's tonight, Dashing!" Draco whispered, buttoning up his shirt. He stared at his face in the mirror, which was lit up in a bright smile. 

"Hopefully, Potter will prove to be tasteful, yeah?" He looked down at the dog, who had rested his head on his paws by the doorway. "I'm sure he has," he added. 

Dashing gave a small whine and thumped his tail.

"Don't be so bitter, little beast," Draco murmured, pulling on sone trousers. "Just because I've a date doesn't mean I don't have time for you. Tomorrow morning, the park again?" 

Dashing lifted his head and thumped his tail harder. "Good, then," Draco told him, tuthing back to look in the mirror. 

He took a moment to stare at himself. 

"Oh, gods." He sighed. "Is this bow tie a bit much?"

* * *

At five 'til six, Draco arrived in front of the Zion, black and white and classy from the outside. He hardly recognized Potter waiting for him, who fit in perfectly with the rest. He was on time and early, as usual. 

Draco joined him at his side. "Look at you, Punctual Potter." He grinned, giving the man and his suit a once-over. "The outfit's nice."

Pottwe self consciously fiddled with his shirt collar. "Glad you like it," he muttered, regarding Draco as well. "I had some help. But you certainly appear to be in your element."

"I'm a debonair man," Draco admitted, taking Potter's arm and leading him to the entrance, where a hostess waited for them. 

"Six o' clock reservation under Hamesfelt," Draco told her, and she let them in with a nod. A waiter moved to lead them to their table.

"Is someone joining us?" Potter asked, spinning his head around to look. 

"Don't stare," Draco chided. "And, no. I generally make reservations under a false name. For privacy reasons. Don't you?" he inquired, glancing over at Potter, who had finally quit gaping and ogling everything in the building. Did the man go to no measures for privacy?

"I don't generally make ressrvations," he mumbled under his breath. 

Draco sighed. No surprise there, actually. "So, where do you usually take dates, then?" he queried, hoping that Potter would confess that he'd already taken Draco to all of his date spots, therefore admitting that he had been taking Draco out for dates.

"Don't date much, actually," he admitted coyly, stopping as the waiter brought them to their table. They both took a seat at the same time. "I'm sorry about Gin's double date thing, by the way. It was a bit disastrous."

Draco smiled, taking a napkin off the table and unfolding it to put it in his lap. "Why apologize? We're here, aren't we?"  

Potter ducked his head. "Yeah," he muttered in agreement. Glancing around the room nervously, he looked a bit like a sitting duck.

Draco stared at him curiously. 

_Is he really not used to this kind of thing? Or is it me?_

"Are you uncomfortable... Harry?" Draco asked, suddenly feeling like he was grasping at strings. 

Potter shrugged, disappointingly not noticing the use of his first name, which was supposed to comfort him. "Usually when I'm at places like this, where you have to dress up and make reservations and all, its for charity or press appearances." 

Draco frowned, wondering if that was all. "Speaking of reservations," he began, remembering Pansy's words, "have you any? Reservations about this, I mean. Seeing me."

Potter looked up sharply. "What? Why? No, Draco, this is fine."

"Alright then." Draco exhaled, deciding to get to the point. "What exactly _do_ you want, then?"

He was fairly certain Potter was interested in him. But he had to make sure. He wanted to hear the actual words.

Potter raised his eyebrows. "I was expecting a lot of things, Draco, but I wasn't expecting you to be blunt." There was an almost-smirk resting on his lips. 

"Self interest," Draco retorted. "I think I deserve to know why you dragged me out of a Ministry lift for lunch, and then tracked down my address. That could mean loads of things. Do you want to be friends? Are you investigating me? Are you looking for a sex slave--"

"Whoa, there," Potter interrupted. "Relax. I meant what I said. I wanted to give the double date a do-over, minus the double part." He casually picked up a menu, preventing Draco from making eye contact. 

_He said it. He said this was a date. Alright. What do I say now?_

The waiter arrived to set down the bottle of wine Draco had already ordered for them, and he waited until the waiter was gone to answer. 

"Why?" Draco demanded. "I've been horrible to you."

Potter absently picked up the bottle of wine and looked it over, finding with a disappointed expression that there was no label. Draco didn't want to startle his plebian senses with a price tag, which was really the only way Draco knew how to judge 'good' wine.

"We've both been pretty rotten, haven't we? But we grew out of it," Potter countered, setting down the bottle. "I saw how you treat your dog, I know you work for the Ministry, and Gin and Neville seem to like you. I figured you weren't all that bad."

Draco frowned again, and casually looked over his own menu. "So, have I lived up to those expectations? As far as I can remember, I've still acted plenty rude to you."

Potter laughed, seeming more normal now. "But we're _here_!" he repeated. "And I know you're warming up to me."

"Fine, _Harry_ ," he replied, leaning over across the able slightly. "Maybe I am warming up to you. But only because I've decided you're not about to go and arrest me, or force me to make some kind of Unbreakable Vow."

Potter just smiled at him. "Well, I'm glad you can finally trust me like I've come to trust you."

_He trusts me?_

Draco smiled back, secretly very pleased, pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle on the table. It was red, and while that was all he knew, he was sure it would most likely be fancy enough to impress Potter. He asked the person on the telephone for their most expensive wine, and they offered this one. That had to be good enough.

_How much does Potter know about wine, anyway?_

He poured a glass for Potter, too. "What, by giving me my wand back? Oh, yes, pure _chivalry_." He sneered, setting down the bottle and taking a whiff of his own drink.

"Well, that. And coming after you without worrying you'd hex my brains out," Potter replied, focusing on the wine and sniffing it. He took a tentative sip, pausing pensively. "Spicy. Shiraz? I wonder what kind of barrels they used..." He swirled the glass. "What's the year on this? I'm guessing 1987?"

Draco's eyes widened, and he forgot about whatever hogwash Harry has been going on about trust.

_Since when does Potter know anything about wine?_

"Er, I've no idea; it appears you might know better than I." He coughed, absently swirling his drink. "Is it alright?" he asked, suddenly nervous. 

Potter grinned. "You don't know your wines, Draco? That's a shame. And, because you obviously can't tell for yourself, it's delicious."

"Yes, pity. But I'm ever so pleased you're enjoying it." Draco scowled, taking a gulp of the drink as he saw the waiter approach them.

He arrived with a smile and a swift nod. "What can I get for you gentlemen?" he inquired, with the satisfying muggle obliviousness that meant he knew nothing about the Potter-Malfoy conflicts of past. 

"What would go with our wine?" Potter asked him without a blink. "I thought the lamb and artichokes, but the wine might be too spicy for it." He frowned thoughtfully, as if this were something of great importance to him.

Draco felt his jaw relax, and it almost gaped, but he composed himself. "No, the spice is fine. The lamb and artichokes are fine. I-in season." He tried to keep himself from sputtering, but it was hard. Potter knew more about good wine than he did, but damn if he would be shown up.

"Two lamb and artichokes?" the waiter repeated.

"Apparently." Potter grinned. "Thank you."

Draco knew it was rude to stare. But he was going to stare. The waiter turned to leave with a small bow of his head and a click of expensive shoea on the floor.

"So," Potter asked, returning to their earlier conversation, before the wine. "What about you, Draco? Why didn't you just turn me down and tell me to sod off? Why are _you_ here?"

I _can't tell him I'm interested yet. He has to think he's pursuing me. But I can't be too cold. Damn. Am I supposed to flirt?_

Draco shook the thoughts away. and smiled wryly. He wouldn't admit to anything, but he wouldn't lie. "You're full of surprises, Potter. For example, your taste in clothes and fine wine." He winked slyly. "It's rather pleasant. I look forward to whatever else you decide to throw at me."

He wasn't exactly as pleased as he made off; he was actually rather perplexed. Potter had class, and yes, that would be nice, should he choose to take him to the International Affairs dinner... But this was nothing like Potter at all. He hadn't been expecting this. He didn't feel as though he had the upper hand anymore.

_It's always better to know your opponent. But hes not my opponent anymore. This isn't a trade conference in Mongolia.This is  a date. Act cool, Draco._

Potter laughed, snapping Draco back to reality. "You surprise me, too. Who would've guessed I would actually enjoy your company?" he asked, his cheeks turning slightly red.

_Maybe it's from the wine? Or is he flirting? What do I say? Damn. Just be confident. Confidence is attractive._

"I'm not surprised. I'm quite brilliant. It just took you a while to figure it out." He beamed cheekily, trying not to scowl as he remembered the way Potter turned him down in first year. 

"It did take a long time, which isn't surprising, considering how cocky you can be," Harry muttered, unperturbed.

Draco snorted. _Maybe I ought to tone down the confidence..._

"Well, to be fair, I didn't do a fair job of representing myself. I was stuck between trying to please my father and get the attention of a certain Gr--" he broke off, coughing into his arm.

_Bad idea. Bad idea._

"Er, I mean to say, the odds were stacked against me. Several conflicting desires in my life." He clarified, daring to look over at Potter, who seemes clueless as ever.

"Understandable, Draco," he replied, glancing around the room. "Your father was a bigger arse than you were. Not to mention the whole Dark Wizarding thing," he added, not even bothering to look at Draco.

_What did I do? Why is this going sour all of a sudden?_

He narrowed his eyes. Whatever Potter was playing at, he wouldn't give in. "And look what happened? My father went to Azkaban, and I grew up." He glared as harshly as he could.

Potter wouldn't look at him, though. He was staring at a spot on  the wall. "Grew up, you did," he said quietly. More loudly, he added, "Sadly, Malfoy, it's irrelevant. I don't know why I even bothered with this meeting." He finally met Draco's gaze, and he was unflinching. 

_What did I do? What's going on? I was sure--_

He stopped thinking, because Potter had stood up. Draco even noticed his napkin had never been on his lap, and it was still folded neatly on the table. 

"What the hell are you going on about, Potter?" Draco seethed. "Sit down; didn't you just say you trusted me?" He demanded, clenching the tablecloth. 

_Don't go, I'm sorry, what is going on...._

Potter shoved his chair into the table roughly, causing the half-full wine glasses to shake. He winced, moving so his back faced the area he was staring at. 

He loweres his voice, leaning down on the table. "Fifteen minutes. Apparate to the park--you know the one." He then turned with a rigid back, and left towards the door without another word. 

"A little explanation would be nice before you leave me with the check!" Draco shouted after him, turning most of the heads in the room. 

He slumped into his chair. 

_What was he talking about? What park? Did I really say something so wrong? And did he just ask me to rendevous with him, after that?_

Draco picked up his wine glass, swirling it and sniffing it like Potter had done. Then, it shattered in his hand, and he didn't know if his hand had done it or just his magic's blunt rage. There was a gasp from a nearby table, and the waiter soon scurried to his table.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, staring at the wine-drenched table cloth and Draco's hand, still clutching the stem of the glass.

"Oh, just peachy. Teach me to deal with troubled celebrities, yeah?" He scoffed, dropping the glass. "He's so fucking dramatic," he growled, and the waiter winced. 

"I'm sorry, sir. Would you still like your meal? We'd be happy to find you another table while we clean this up," the waiter assured him, apparently having no issue that Draco just ruined the table.

"Nonsense. I'll pay and leave," he murmured, pulling out his wallet and setting the largest bills he could find. He set them on the table. "Keep what's left, for your inconvenience."

He stood and dropped his napkin on the table, striding past the gaping server and ignoring the other customers. The dim colors of the restaurant flashed out of existence as he was brought into the florescently lit streets of the late evening. Potter was nowhere to be found. 

_Park. There's no bloody park that I could find Potter at. He was just distracting me. We've no possible connections to any--_

"Oh," he said aloud. "That park."

He broke into a faster stride to reach the safe apparition point, where he would then use to get to the park where he had first met Potter after taking Dashing to the Healer.

And then he would hex Potter to Hades and demand why he had been so rude as to publicly humiliate him and act like a mad man. And Potter would regret ever acting like a classless git, and Draco would never talk to him again. 

And then things would be normal, wouldn't they? After all, this was what he had expected. 

_I was an idiot to be surprised._

* * *

Potter was waiting for him, just where Draco had expected. The park and the tree looked different at night, and it felt empty without all the friendly animals. 

But certainly better without the spectators. He rarely allowed himself to show rage publicly. 

But Potter was a different story anyhow. 

The said git was sitting with his head in his hands, looking comfortably miserable in the cool grass. His head snapped up when he heard Draco apparate in. 

"Draco! I--"

"Shut it, Potter," he interrupted, drawing his wand. "Give me one good reason not to hex you, petrify you, and then leave you to be found by muggles in the morning," he hissed, his voice shaking. 

"It was an act!" Potter protested, sitting up and putting his arms in the air. "I didn't want to storm out on you, I--"

Draco cut him off again. "But you did. We were having a pleasant time, and then you had to start spewing nonsense, before you left me! No sane person does that, Potter!" 

Potter sighed and pursed his lips. "I don't blame you for being angry--it was a bit random," he conceded. 

"A bit, Potter?" he cried. "A bit?!"

"Damn it, Draco, let me finish!" Potter growled. "There was a someone from _the Prophet_ in the back corner. I had to leave before they got any ideas."

That didn't make things better. 

"Oh, and you couldn't have just said so? You had to make a scene and storm out on me?" Draco demanded, finally lowering his wand. Hexing Potter wouldn't make it any better. 

"I panicked, okay? I treated it like I was in the field. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not one for social graces." He snapped, turning his head away. "If I got published, the Department might just drop me then and there."

"As satisfying as it is to hear you admit worthlessness," Draco retorted, "it was completely unnecessary. Did you even think how it could have made me look? Imagine what kinds of things they could publish on that little outburst. You made things worse for both of us." He crossed his arms and looked down on Potter. 

"I realize," he groaned, planting a hand in the grass. "I told you, I don't date much."

"Which obviously makes this acceptable, doesn't it?" Draco rolled his eyes. "What, did you think I was some sort of easy catch? Figured I was the one date you could afford to fuck up on?"

Potter shook his head, sitting up. "No! It's not like that at all. I...." He frowned and exhaled deeply. "Christ, Draco. Sit down, will you?"

Draco paused, but realized there was no way he would decline. He planted himself down next to Potter. "You're a git." He informed him curtly. 

"I know," Potter replied, not even returning the insult. "I'm also terribly stupid. And crass. And foolish. I guess I meant what I said--I don't know why I even bothered with this."

Draco winced, willing him to continue. 

"It was bound to end up this way, wasn't it? Me doing something foolish, and you getting angry with me and going back to hating me again. It was going so well, too." Potter sighed, slumping over a bit. 

"I don't hate you anymore, Potter. It would take a lot," Draco assured him, not knowing why he said it. 

Potter frowned, looking over at Draco. "Really? Even if I stormed out on you because of a grain of worry? Even if I was horrible to you in school? Even if I really know nothing about etiquette, or wine, or clothes?"

"You never make any sense, Harry," Draco breathed, watching the green eyes that blinked and widened. 

"Hermione chose my clothes, and Neville and Ron even tried to help me with a crash course in etiquette, and I made up the shit about wine," Potter admitted, surprisinfluence firmly. "I wanted to get it right, Draco. Just once, maybe I'd impress you."

"Why?" Draco inquired. "Why would you want to impress me, of all people?" 

Potter shrugged absently. "Malfoy and his fancy robes and his class and his cronies and his pretty--" he broke off, shaking his head. "You're an easy man to envy, I suppose. And rivalries never fade."

Draco winces again. "So, this was all about rivalry, then?"

"No!" he cried. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Draco asked, glaring at him. He wanted to know once and for all that Potter was interested. He was tired of mixed messages. 

"I don't know!" Potter groaned. "I thought I could get to know you, the real Draco--the one that rolls on the grass with his dog and wastes time in the broom shop and likes brunch and works at the Ministry." He flinched at his own words, but the Gryffindor in him apparently took over and he finished. "I was intrigued, okay? The part of me that stalked you in school is still there."

Draco laughed uneasily. "You want to stalk me? Again? Didn't that turn out horrendously for everyone last time?" He asked. 

"Oh, shut it. I know you're never going to open up to me. It just won't work, will it?"

Draco choked a little. "I wouldn't say that, Harry," he whispered. "You've gotten a lot further than just about anyone else. Three dates is an impressive streak."

"Really?" he asked. "Dates? You're admitting to having dated me?" He sounded incredulous, laughing hesitantly. 

"If you do. Which I don't think you do, considering you ran out of the building."

Potter--or was it Harry? He really didnt know anymore--shifted uncomfortably. "I had to!"

"Yeah, yeah." Draco sighed. "I'm sure that's the case. Now, just fucking tell me, are you interested in me or not? Because I don't want to invest anything more in this than I already have."

Green eyes blinked in shock. "I thought I had painted a pretty clear picture, considering all I've done." 

Draco stared back. "I need you to say it. I can't believe that Harry Potter is interested in Draco Malfoy. It's ludicrous. I need to hear it."

Harry sighed. "I am interested in you, Draco."

"Brilliant," he responded. "It's great when these things are mutual, don't you think?" Draco asked, finally relaxing. "Now I feel much better about myself."

"Yeah." He gave him a smile and a sidelong glance. "Will you call me Harry now, then?"

Draco laughed. "I think I will," he agreed. "Now, what do you think of another date? Not a meal, though--it's gotten terribly boring." 

"Agreed. Hiking, perhaps? I'll owl you," he promised. 

"Whatever you decide. I think we best part ways now, before I do anything stupid," Draco confessed. 

"Fine. Expect an owl tomorrow," Harry ordered, standing up. "And, good night, Draco."

"Good night, Harry," Draco replied, watching from the ground as he Apparated away. 

He stayed there for a while after Harry left, relaxing in the green grass and contemplating the evening. 

He realized it was never a matter of Potter earning Draco's attention, and it was not a matter of who was pursuing who. He didn't know what it was, and it didn't matter. 

It felt secure for once. 

 


	11. How Was It?

"How was dinner?" Blaise asked, stirring milk into his tea. He had invited Draco and Pansy over for the afternoon at his Germany house, two days after his dinner date with Harry. 

Blaise's home was huge. Ridiculously extravagant, it was more of a villa than anything, set atop a mountain in thick forest. They were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the green scenery below.

"Well, the wine was fine, but we didn't stay for the meal," Draco murmured, leaning back into his chair.

Blaise's eyebrows shot up. "So, it went better than expected?" he asked with a smirk. 

Pansy gaped. "Where did you take him? Home? How was it?" she demanded, slamming her hands on the table. 

"Relax, relax. It wasn't like that. quite the opposite, actually," Draco sighed, staring wistfully out into the trees. There was a glorious light reflecting everywhere, green shimmerinh here and there. It was gorgeous. "He stormed out on me," he hummed with a smile.

"Then why are you looking so smug?" Blaise frowned, setting down his tea. 

"Draco..." Pansy muttered. 

"It was all an act. He made me meet him at the park, the dramatic wanker." He laughed slightly, still breath taken by the green of the view. How had he not noticed it every other time he visited?

"Draco," she grimaced, "are you sure you can trust him? We've been over this..."

Blaise scoffed. "Relax, Pans. Why aren't you absolutely elated? Let the man be in love. Now, what happened at the park?" he inquired, waggling his brows. 

"I'm not in love," Draco hissed, watching them from the corner of his eye. "We just talked a bit. About how we were both... Interested, I suppose. We're going hiking soon, I think." 

"Hiking," Blaise repeated. "With the dog and the bird, no doubt." 

Pansy huffed in agreement. "Well, I suppose that's one thing to trust. They're both crazy about their animals." 

"Hush," Draco pouted. "That's perfectly alright." 

He was feeling a bit absent minded. Lost in thought. He zoned out while Blaise and Pansy continued to chatter. He was busy watching the light dance about the trees. It was a lot like fairies, he thought. Dashing would love it--

"Draco." Blaise snapped his fingers. "Draco!"

"Yeah, I hear you. What is it?" he asked, turning his head. 

"Asking about your dog. He's still in the garden, isn't he?" Blaise asked, jerking his head ambiguously in the direction of the other side of the house.

"Shit." Draco groaned, standing up to go retrieve his dog.

"Let's hope he doesn't like carrots as much this time!" Pansy called after him, snickering. 

He ignored her, breaking into a run over the white-stone floor. He passed through several hallways until he reached the garden gate. It was a pompous marble archway, opening into two acres of flowering shrubs and bushes with bulbous roots, all used for potions ingredients. There were a few safe, normal vegetables. He hoped that those were what Dashing chose to dig in, if any.

"Dashing! Here, boy!" he called, cupping his hands. "Dashing!"

There was a rustle in the bushes, and a dirt-covered snout emerged, half a carrot sticking out the side. 

"Oh, brilliant. You got to the carrots." Draco sighed, lowering himself to the earth to sit cross legged. "Come here, boy. Let's brush you off."

Dashing swished his tail, obnoxiously flopping his soiled self onto Draco's lap. He continued gnawing the carrot. 

Draco cast a few cleaning spells. "Damn. Why'd I forget about you? Now your shit will be orange for the next few days." He rubbed him on the head, sighing as he said, "I'm the worst dog owner ever."

"Really?" a voice behind him asked. "Because I've heard evidence for the contrary."

Draco twisted himself to look, and Dashing remained a deadweight atop him. He caught a flash of red hair and green robes. 

"Weas--Ginerva?" he asked, as she crossed in front of him, plopping herself onto the ground. 

"Ginny, if you're willing to be less of a prat." She grinned, picking up a handful of soil. 

"Fine. Hello, Ginny," Draco grumbled. Why did Gryffindors insist on colloquial names? "What brings you here?"

She laughed. "Blaise, obviously. I spent the night."

Draco frowned. "He failed to mention company. And I shudder to think what spending the night may have entailed..."

"Oh, grow up, Malfoy." She sneered, flicking some of the dirt with him. "I doubt you're so squeaky clean."

"Scouting me out for Harry, are you?" He scowled, shifting beneath his dog. Dashing whined in protest.

She winked and grinned triumphantly. "So, he's Harry now, is he?" She leaned over to pat Dashing on the head.

"Well, hasn't he always been Harry?" He scoffed. 

"Not to you, he hasn't. Yesterday he said the date went well," she sang, tilting her head.

"Ask Blaise what I told him. I don't feel like talking with you." Draco sighed, nudging Dashing off of his lap and standing. "Besides, I've drinks with Neville at seven. Might as well go home and get ready."

"And you need three hours?" she asked, standing up as well. "Come on, Malfoy. Don't avoid me. We have to become friends eventually!"

Draco pulled a leash out of his pocket. "Not today, Ginerva. I'm going to say goodbye to Blaise and Pansy."

* * *

"So," Neville coughed, "how was the date?"

Draco smirked and took a swallow of his drink. "I was wondering how long you'd hold out before asking. It went fantastically. He stormed out on me before the meal had even come." 

Neville's mouth hung slightly open. "I can't tell if that was sarcasm."

"Oh, Harry didn't tell you? Well, we had a lovely conversation in the park," Draco said, watching the confusion grow on Neville's face.

"Again, was that sarcastic? Harry hasn't told me anything yet," he replied, cautiously taking a drink.

"Not sarcastic. He didn't storm out on me out of anger. He saw a reporter, and was a little bitch about it." Draco smiled happily, sighing exaggeratedly.

"You've had a third of a drink, and I'd say you're drunk," said Neville blandly. "Though I don't think it's the alcohol that's gotten to your head," he added in a sing song voice.

"Oh, shut it," Draco sighed. "He said you helped him before the date?" he inquired.

Neville grinned. "Oh, yeah. That. He was pretty excited about it, you know. Thinks you're quite a catch," he articulated. "Crazy, isn't he?" 

Draco turned red, taking another sip to hide his face. "He is quite mad, I agree," he replied. "Do you know much about his work?"

"Ask him," Neville grumbled. "I'm not your go-between. Though I do want to hear how it went."

"There's not much to say," he replied, "besides that you prepared him well."

"Oh, good," Neville replied. "Glad to see my experience payed off."

Draco choked on his drink. "Experience?" he repeated.

Neville winced. "I do date, you know. Even if I spend my Friday's with you, plenty of other nights of the week can be devoted to my romantic exploits," he murmured defensively. 

"Interesting," Draco hummed. "You know, after all this time, I don't think we've discussed your dating life," he commented, leaning forward in intrigue.

"Oh, I can tell you plenty." Neville smirked. "Just last week, a bloke from Sweden took me for a lunch date in the Alps. A very wonderful man, very interesting. He has--"

Draco cut him off. "Back up, Longbottom. Did you tell me earlier that you dated men? Because I feel as though we haven't gone over this."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Perhaps because you never pay attention  and you're self absorbed. Because I am almost certain that I mentioned I swing both ways."

Draco frowned. "No, you haven't. When did you find out?" he inquired, realizing he'd never had a discussion about this with anyone before. He only knew his own experience.

"Somewhere between leaving Hogwarts and getting stuck being friends with you," Neville joshed, finishing his beer in one gulp. "Met a fellow when I was on a business trip in Scotland. He was very talented." He smirked, making a gesture with his hands that Draco didn't recognize.

"Why do I get the feeling you have a better sex life than I do?" He groaned, covering his eyes. 

"Well, I do. And I know because you would have told me if anything exciting ever happened to you," Neville said, looking terribly smug. 

"Who would have thought?" Draco asked dryly. 

"I know," Neville replied. He grinned. "I even had a little fling with Harry once," he added pensively.

"What?" Draco demanded. "Why would you tell me that? Now I'm imagining--" he broke off, feeling nauseated.

Neville burst out laughing. "Relax! It wasn't like that; it was just a snog. Terribly awkward between us for a while after that, I'm afraid. We were very drunk, at one of Ginny's parties," he explained. 

"Lovely." Draco scowled. "She throws parties like that, huh?"

Neville nodded. "That's how she and Blaise met, you know. She threw a party, and he was some former Ravenclaw's date. Ginny likes the way he danced." 

"Typical for Blaise, I suppose." He sighed. "Gods, I really do need a life, don't I?" 

Neville nodded somberly, clasping his shoulder. "You'll get there, mate. And you'll tell me all about it when you do."

Draco groaned. "No," he protested. "Let me keep some things private."

"You won't, though," Neville chuckled, standing up. "You'll want to brag, I know it. And I can't wait." He turned to leave. 

"See you." Draco called after him.

"See you!" Neville replied. "Good luck!"

Draco grinned, hoping he'd find an owl from Harry when he went back home.

 _Good luck, indeed_.

 


	12. Closer

It wasn't an owl waiting for Draco when he got back from drinks with Neville. 

It was Harry, sitting on the floor next to his fireplace, showering Dashing with attention. 

"How the hell did you get in here?" Draco demanded, startled. 

Harry's head popped up, as did Dashing's. "Hullo. Your Floo was open," he said nonchalantly, returning to scratching Dashings' belly. 

"Not to you, it wasn't. Very few people are connected to my Floo, and I think I would know if Harry Potter was one of them," Draco snapped, lifting his nose into the air. "Unless, of course, you've abused your Unspeakable authorities?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he replied. "Blaise and Gin sent me over."

Draco scowled. "Why?" he demanded. He had just been with them before seeing Neville.... Had Potter been in the house at the time too? Pansy would have had a stroke.

"Who knows why they do anything?" Harry asked philosophically. "Gin called me over for dinner at five, and when we were done, Blaise insisted I use his Floo to drop by," he explained, pausing with his attention-giving to Dashing.

"I was there at five," Draco grumbled. "Those conniving little--"

"Would you prefer if I leave?" Harry interrupted. He looked genuinely concerned.

Draco stiffened. Of course he didn't want Harry to leave. He just didn't... Didn't...

Really, besides the blatant invasion of privacy, his brain couldnt come up with any reason to be adverse to this. How bad was it to have Harry Potter sitting on his floor and conversing with him?

"No, no. You're already here. Can I get anything for you?" Draco asked, taking off his own coat and hanging it by the door. He walked over to join Harry. "You're welcome to sit somewhere other than the floor."

Harry chuckled. "I think Dashing might disagree."

"Get off my floor, Potter," Draco ordered. "If I am anything, I'm not a poor host." 

Harry raised his eyebrows, and moved himself to the white couch. Dashing hopped up and joined him, curling up in a ball and thumping his tail twice. 

"Er, is he allowed up here?" Harry asked cautiously.

Draco sighed. "No, but it doesn't stop him. So don't bother." He paused. "Do you need anything?" 

Harry shrugged. "A glass of water would be nice."

"Brilliant." Draco snapped his fingers. "Off, Dashing. You need dinner." 

The dog lifted his head excitedly, eagerly hopping off the couch and padding into the kitchen. Draco followed after him. He then mixed some of Dashings' beef with a handful of cooked brown rice, and set the dish on the floor.

"Has he been alone all day?" Harry asked with a frown, twisting himself to peer over the couch and watch Draco.

He shrugged. "I was with him all morning. I left to visit Blaise at one, and was back before five," he explained. "Then I was with him until seven, which was drinks with Neville, and now it's... Nine? Gods, it's early."

Harry laughed. "Oh, you have no idea. Neville probably ran off to go dancing." 

Draco grimaced, using his wand to fill the glasses with water. "I'm not surprised, really. How naive of me to think that all this time, his Friday nights were devoted solely to me." 

"He's quite the party animal," Harry chuckled. "And he has plenty of time for it, too, considering his job." 

"What's his job?" Draco asked, carrying over the glasses. "I'm afraid he hasn't mentioned it much."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What in Merlin's name do you talk about, if not his love life or his work?"

Draco reddened. "Me, mostly." He scoffed. Then, he had a sudden pang of jealousy. Hastily, he asked, "Why, are you two very close?" He sat down next to Harry.

He shrugged and took the cup. "We're friends, but not great friends. He doesn't have time for introverts like me." He laughed wryly. "I don't have much to talk about anyway, given my career and all."

Draco nodded sagely, supposing that being an Unspeakable really would make dor poor work conversation. "Perhaps we could achieve his kind of lively lifestyle had we not animals to care to." He huffed. "Or so he tells me. Speaking of which, that bird of yours isn't flying wild about my house and shitting, is it?" He demanded.

Harry let out a coarse bark of laughter. "No, he's at home. The roommate takes care of him when I'm gone."

"You've a roommate?" Draco inquired curiously. "Who?"

"Just another fellow from the Department. He didn't have anywhere else to go, so I took him in a while back. Lived with him longer than Feldspar," Harry said thoughtfully, taking a sip of his tea.

"Saint Potter," Draco grumbled. "He doesn't mind the bird?"

Harry shrugged. "No. He quite likes it. Gives us both a little company." He paused, glancing at Draco from the side. " _You_ mind the bird, don't you?"

"He's terrifying!" Draco cried, crossing his legs and leaning towards Harry earnestly. "How do you trust him _not_ to scratch your eyes out?" 

"The same way I trust you," Harry replied coolly. "I just know."

"Oh." Draco didn't know what to say. He set his cup down on a coaster and stood up. "Er, care for some fresh air? I'm sure Dashing needs to relieve himself," he mumbled, awkwardly holding the back of his own neck with a hand.

Harry shrugged. "Why not? It seems like it's a lovely evening out." He followed Draco to the door. "Do you have a nice view of the stars here?"

"Oh, yes," Draco told him, leading him to the door to the back yard and holding it open. "There aren't that many houses out here in the country. The air is nice too."

Harry stepped outside, and Draco watched him breathe in the air and let out a long sigh.

"Do you garden?" he asked. "It smells flowery out here."

Draco stepped out as well and stood next to him, their shoulders brushing. It was the closest they had been to each other, he realized. Dashing pranced past them, into the yard. 

"A bit," Draco confessed. "You're probably smelling the night blooming jasmine. Neville helped me with it." 

"Lovely," Harry whispered. "We haven't any jasmine at my flat. Not too much room for plants."

"Really?" asked Draco, noticing then how softly they were speaking. "You could grow some climbing plants on a wall. It really helps with--"

He broke off when Harry suddenly turned to face him, leaving a very small space between them. Draco could see his eyes glowing and feel his breath hot on his face.

"Frankly, I don't really care," Harry breathed, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk.

"Oh," Draco mumbled, feeling slightly sorry, and very vulnerable under Harry's gaze. "You were talking about the jasmine, so I thought--"

"Shh. You're thinking too much." Harry cut him off again, this time by cupping his cheek with a hand.

Draco was about to ask him what he meant, but before he could say anything else foolish, Harry boldly closed the gap between them. 

Harry's lips were everything Draco imagined them to feel like and more, except he had never actually realized how much time he had spent imagining it. And now, it was happening--he was kissing Harry Potter. 

He felt dumbstruck, like a teenager again, as if he had never kissed before and had no idea what to do. He realized how unappealing that must have felt to Harry, so he quickly put effort into kissing back, putting one hand behind Harry's neck and the other around his waist. Harry had one on Draco's shoulder, and one gently pressing down on the back of his head.

It was over all too soon, Harry pulling away gently and maintaining a close distance.

"I can't do this." 

Draco's chest clenched within him, and he didn't know what to do. "What the hell do you mean? You just did!"

Harry's eyes widened, and he shook his head. "I didn't mean it like that!" he whispered. "I meant your dog is five meters away taking a shit and it's strange."

"Oh," Draco murmured. Then, he laughed. "Don't be such a picky little ponce! He's on the other side of the lawn."

Harry adjusted his arms and moved his face closer. "Yeah, but... I'm not used to it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I could tolerate your bird from five meters away if it meant more of _that_."

Harry stood on the tips of his toes, and whispered directly into Draco's ear. "You wouldn't. _I_ wouldn't." He paused a moment, his lips brushing sensitive skin on Draco's ear and driving him mad. "Let's go inside."

After that, Draco couldn't agree more. He rushed Harry into the house, not bothering to close the door. In a matter of moments, they found themselves back on the couch, this time without a respectful distance between them.

Harry was on top of Draco, and they kissed slowly and needily. Draco didn't think he'd had a date in a few months, let alone had someone _kissing_ him.

 _And--oh, gods--kissing me like_ this.

He moaned loudly into Harry's mouth, who shifted closer so their bodies were touching in as many ways as possible. 

He had a feeling that Harry was a bit more experienced, knowing exactly how to move and where to go to make Draco _ache_ with pleasure. 

He broke away to move to Harry's neck, and then there was too much fabric in the way, and things went from there.

They became focused on each other that they didn't even notice when Dashing entered the room. They were both half-naked and their brains half-gone when the dog let out a loud bark, scaring them out of their skins.

Dashing jumped onto the couch and whined. Draco sat up and scooted away from Harry. 

"Dashing!" he shouted. "Go to bed, boy." When the dog didn't move, he sighed and stood up.

"I'm so sorry," he told Harry, feeling sorry for himself, too. "I completely forgot. I'll be just a minute..." He stumbled away, pulling Dashing by the collar into the 'dogs only' area, and closing the door to the backyard. 

When he returned to the sitting room, Harry was already getting dressed. 

"You're leaving?" Draco asked, feeling disappointed. 

Harry gave him an apologetic smile. "Yeah. I really should get going..." His face said something along the lines of _before we do anything stupid._

Draco sighed, figuring it was for the best. He didn't want to ruin any kind of closeness he and Harry had developed. He wouldn't push him.

"Alright," he conceded. "When can I see you again?" he asked tentatively. 

Harry finished buttoning his shirt and walked over to Draco, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

"Soon," he told him. "How does hiking Sunday sound? I can arrange a portkey if you meet me at the Ministry." 

Draco breathed in the smell of him for a moment. "Fine," he agreed. "I'm guessing I shouldn't bring the dog?"

Harry winced. "Maybe not. They don't do to well with portkeys, you know." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah. See you Sunday."

Harry frowned. "You're not mad, are you?"

Draco wasn't mad. He didn't know why Harry would think he was upset. 

"No, I understand. I'll see you Sunday," he repeated, kissing Harry quickly again for good measure. 

"If you say so," Harry sighed. "Do you mind if I use your Floo?" he inquired. "That way we can visit more often, at least."

Draco frowned. "We'll have to set it up later. I have some spells set that won't let you go just _anywhere_ from it. As I'm sure yours does."

"I have some tricks up my sleeve." Harry smirked, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the fireplace. The flames flickered green, and Harry muttered some sort of spell.

"What--"

"Good night, Draco," Harry interrupted him. 

"Good night." 

He could hear Harry mutter, "Gods, I hate the Floo," and then he was gone.

Draco collapsed onto his sofa in utter disbelief of the entire evening.

 _Well, I guess this settles it,_ he thought. _I'm in a relationship with Harry Potter._

He couldn't believe his luck.


	13. Objective

Draco truly hated dress robes.

He felt a little silly wearing them, knowing that in a few hours he would have to change out of them for his hike with Harry. But he had to stop by the Ministry to speak with Madam Pashfarther about his next assignment. And he was going to look nice for that, lest she have something else to pick on him for.

Robes trailing behind him, he swished through the Ministry's Atrium towards the lifts, half-hoping he might run into Harry again. Wouldn't that be fun?

Alas, Harry was nowhere to be found. The Ministry was surprisingly empty (or as empty as it could be) on a Sunday, and Draco didn't even have to share his lift with anyone. It was quieter than normal, and on the way to Pashfarther he only ran into one other person. He didn't recognize them anyway, so it didn't matter.

The boss woman herself waited for him behind her desk, decked out in bright orange robes with a matching hat, which sported a bright turquoise plume. s"Hoping the early bird gets the worm, Malfoy?" She asked, folding her arms atop the desk as Draco sat down across from her. 

"No, ma'am. I can't say I'm a tremendous fan of worms," he deadpanned, crossing his legs and meeting her eye. "What can I do for you today?"

She sniffed as she cast him a disapproving glare. "Malfoy, dearie," she chided. "Don't distract me with work quite yet. You did get my letter, didn't you?"

He refrained from rolling his eyes. But just barely. "Of course. Apparently, my love life is of more value than negotiating the wand trade laws between us and Italy." He scoffed, giving her a look that said, _Yes, I do read the weekly updates. Do you?_

"Italy can keep their wands." She scowled. "And I hope that wasn't you suggesting your next destination--I'm not sending you to Rome again! Not after last time."

Draco sighed. "What? It's not my fault I can't stand olives. He was practically shoving them down my throat!" he prostested.

He was remembering the date-gone-wrong with the Italian pureblood whose father was in charge of the meeting. That was back in the good old days, before Pashfarther was interested in his love life. Back when she rathered to use him as a tool to coerce the homosexual side of foreign government, before she realized he had no love life outside of that and decided she needed to intervene. 

"Yes, and if you had the guts to swallow the damn thing, our Ministry could have had access to their database on magical creatures populations, _and_  we could have apprehended the Abyss Cult! You failed more than one Department there." She scowled, for a moment lost in the memory. 

"My gag reflex cares little for mermaid-poaching Dementor worshippers," Draco replied nonchalantly, waving it off with a hand. 

Pashfarther snapped her fingers in his face. "And what does it care for? Perhaps that's why you haven't gotten a date--I don't think you've _swallowed_ anything! Olives or no, it's rude," she grumbled, crossing her arms.

Draco winced. "Not true!" he protested. "And, for your information, I _have_ got a date. I'm going out with him later this afternoon," he told her bitterly, mimicking her crossed arms. 

"Who is it then?" she demanded, leaning over to peer ar him intently. "What is it, your first in months?"

This time, he did roll his eyes. 

"We've gone out several times before. I think I'll be bringing him as my date to the staff dinner." He informed her. 

Her eyebrows shot up. "Really?" she asked. "Do I know him?"

He smirked. "Not personally, I don't think. But you should know him when you see him."

"You better not be leading me on," she snarled. 

"I'm not. Now, where are you sending me next?" he inquired, not planning on giving her any more information.

"Turkey," she informed him resignedly. "Six days at most. They're wanting our help weeding out some Dark practitioners that have been 'desecrating' a sacred form of healing magic. In return, Trade Regulations wants you to convince them to offer us an open trade policy--magic carpets are in high demand, you know."

He nodded pensively. "Anything else?" he inquired. 

She nodded. "Naturally. There's something to do with the nature of their magic that the Department of Mysteries wants a piece of the action. They'll be sending one or two of their own to help negotiate some other terms they refuse to disclose to me." She frowned at this, obviously hating being out of the know.

"Department of Mysteries?" Draco repeated, as casually as he could. 

"Yes," she affirmed with a bored groan. "You've worker with them before, haven't you?"

"I have," he agreed, deciding not to give anything away to ask which Unspeakable they might be sending. He could ask Harry if it was him later. 

"Good," Pashfarther replied, clearing her throat. "Then I shall owl you the details later. Expect a thick envelope tomorrow morning. And, hopefully, I won't need to see you until I meet your date." She stood up, and Draco followed suit.

"Er, right. See you at the dinner, Madam," he said, bowing gracefully and backing out the door. 

"I haven't forgotten your wrath!" he added over his shoulder, ready to go meet Harry at the Portkey office for their hike. 

* * *

An hour later, after changing into casual robes and waiting for Harry for far too long, they had caught their Portkey. 

Now, they were standing in a wood at the base of a trail. It was colder than Draco had expected, with snow left in several clumps in the shadows, and it was completely desolate. The air smelled sharply of pine, and a breeze rustled the trees above. 

"Harry," he breathed, staring at everything. "Where are we?" he asked, taking a moment to spin around.

"Canada," Harry told him, who was dressed far more appropriately, at least remembering to bring a coat. "Let me cast some warming charms for you."

Draco let him, and immediately feeling warmer. "You didn't think to warn me?" he demanded, taking the advantage to stand closer to Harry.

"It was a surprise," Harry replied, linking arms with him. "Now, come on. It's a short hike."

"Canada," Draco muttered, huddling as close as he could while maintaining a decent pace. "Why Canada?"

Harry chuckled. "I told you not to bring the dog." 

"Dashing would have loved it." He scoffed. "But me? No!" He shuddered dramatically. 

"Oh, stop complaining," Harry teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

They continued hiking--walking, really, seeing as they were only going a few miles, and it wasn't steep at all. 

The soil was soft, and he could smell a unique earthiness beneath the stronger pine. The cold air pricked his lungs and flushed his cheeks, and despite the warming charm, his hands were red and raw. 

"Next time, take me someplace warm," he muttered, taking hold of Harry's hand, who turned his head to raise an eyebrow. 

"Where might you like to go, then?" he inquired jovially, twining their fingers. "I like it here."

Draco shrugged. Innocently, he asked, "Is it warm in Turkey?"

"What makes you ask about Turkey?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Got a job there soon. I heard my department was teaming up with yours," he replied casually, gently swinging their hands back and forth. 

Harry tripped over a root, but steadied himself as Draco caught him. 

"What a weird stroke of fate," he laughed, returning to his normal gait. "I was assigned to Turkey."

Draco smirked. "Well, goody for us. Do you know anything about the trip?" 

"I doubt I'm allowed to tell you anything you don't already know," Harry muttered, giving him a stink-eye. "We'll have plenty of time to talk in Turkey. Just look at the trees."

Draco rolled his eyes and complied. He counted four different kinds of evergreens, though he could never name them. He also saw some small birds, and one squirrel. 

"You come here often?" Draco asked eventually. 

"I used to," Harry replied quietly. "Quebec is a great place. I stayed there a few months."

"Special to you?" he inquired curiously. 

"Yeah," Harry replied, absently. "I needed some place to go after... After everything. Nobody knew there, nobody gave a shit. Even the local wizards were pretty oblivious to it." 

"Lucky you," Draco sighed, "only needing to run from fame."

Harry nudged him softly. "I did what I could for you."

He was right. Draco couldn't find it in himself to be bitter with Harry.

He smirked. "How long did you want to chase after me, Potter?" he inquired jokingly.

"Who ever said anything about that?" Harry joked, his face gone red either from cold or embarrasment.

"Just a question."

"You're a git," Harry mumbled, though it was said almost fondly. "And it was on and off. Sixth year was interesting--"

Draco choked. "Interesting! What turned you on? The breaking your nose or the crying?" he demanded.

"Nothing turned me on!" Harry cried defensively, breaking into laughter. "I was just obsessed with you."

Draco scoffed. "I went through that awful phase fifth year."

"Obsessed with which one of us?" Harry jested. 

"You'll never know."

Harry laughed. "Fair enough. But you should know I had my eye on you all through your trial. And then it was back the moment I saw you in the vet."

"Mmm, yes. Obsessive dog owner kink. Charming, Harry." He chuckled, wondering what the real cause of it was.

"Shut it," Harry murmured. "I liked your banter."

"Then why on earth should I shut it?"

Harry let go of his hand. "Hush, come on. We've reached the place." He sped up, and led Harry a little further up the trail, into the trees. 

In a few moments, they were in a clearing. Somehow, they were on top of a high hill, and miles and miles of forest could be seen into the distance. The air was colder here, and smelled more of water than forest. The sky was an endless clear blue, fading purple as the sun set, and the breeze chapped their faces. 

And surrounding them, close to the ground, were little colorful, glowing, dancing in the air. 

"Pixies?" Draco breathed.

"Close. They call them fairylights," Harry replied, moving closer. "Same concept, but nicer and less humanoid. It's a nice spot to stay and think."

Draco moved closer, too. "And what do you suggest we think about?"

Harry grinned, sliding his arms onto Draco's shoulders and threading his fingers through his hair. They were cold to the touch, and all the more ticklish.

"Nothing," Harry whispered, before closing the distance and kissing.

This time, with no dog to interrupt, it went on much longer, though the cold prevented them from getting as far as they may have liked. After some time of teasingly close kissing, they broke apart.  

The sky was turning color, and the fairylights were glowing brighter. 

"The portkey leaves soon," said Harry.

"Must we leave?"

"Do you want to freeze to death in the Canadian wildnerness?" Harry questioned, getting uo to his feet with a groan. "We need to go soon."

Draco sighed. "We can come back here again, though?"

Harry helped him to his feet, and pulled the Portkey, a small pocket watch, out of his jacket. 

"Later. First, we plan Turkey."

Draco felt the familar tug at his navel, and he was pulled away from the small little haven in the woods. 

Back to reality.

 


	14. Departure

"Sorry, Dashing," Draco sighed, patting the beast's head. "I've got to go to work for a while. But I hired a sitter for you, and she says she's bringing some children for you to play with." 

Dashing whined, crossed his paws, and gave Draco a dejected look. 

"Yes, I know," Draco sighed. "I'm probably going to return to a house torn up by children." Leaving was probably a mistake...

The dog made another whimpering noise. Draco rolled his eyes, but got down on the floor to scrub him on the ears and say goodbye. 

"I know it's not what you meant," he said to him, "but I'm not worried about you. I would trust you over a child any day."

Dashing thumped his tail to that. 

Draco chuckled and gave his final goodbye. 

"If the International Department permits it, I'll be sure to bring you back a big, Turkish lamb bone." 

And with that, he Apparated away to the Ministry telephone booth. Gods, how he hated that thing. 

He entered and typed the code, spoke with the operator, and then was brought down to the Atrium. 

Once he was there, he headed to the lifts. He caught a glimpse of Ministry Munchies and smiled to himself. He half-hoped to run into Harry in the lifts again, but he knew he wouldn't. They had scheduled different Portkeys, just to be safe. 

He was humming absently to himself as he rode the lift up, not really paying attention to his surroundings. Someone joined him on the second floor. 

"Malfoy?" they asked.

He turned his head to look at them. 

"Granger," eh replied. 

"Fancy seeing you here," she murmured, watching him curiously. 

He didn't really know what to say to her. It had been years since he last saw her, but he knew he ought to say something, considering she was Harry's friend...

That was it. Harry. 

"Thanks for helping my date with his clothing," he said discreetly. "He looked very handsome."

She raised an eyebrow. "He said it went well. I hear you had a follow up or two?" she asked. 

He grinned cyrptically at her. "I'm just about to catch a Portkey to Turkey with him."

Granger looked at him in surprise. 

"I mean, not with him... It's for work... We just happen to both he going..." he stuttered, suddenly feeling like a fool. 

Granger laughed. "So I heard. Have fun, Malfoy." She pointed towards the door. "This is your floor, I take it?"

He nodded awkwardly. "Thank you, Granger," he said, stumbling out the door. He gave her a little salute as it closed and she was carried off to another floor. 

Draco, feeling a little dumbstruck, just barely made it to the Portkey office on time. He hurried into the office and was greeted by the bored-looking young woman at the counter. 

"Hello. Picking up a portkey or reserving one?" she asked blandly. 

"Picking up," he told her. "Under Malfoy. Ministry class."

She nodded and went to take it out of a drawer. "Here you go, handsome." She said in the driest way possible, handing him a blue water bottle. "Cutting it close, too. It's set to leave in five minutes." 

He gave her his thanks and took the Portkey. It didn't take long for the five minutes to pass, and soon he was being pulled away across the continent to Turkey. 

He blinked and he was in a crowded street in Istanbul, far away from awkward Ministry conversations and unenthusiastic workers. 

He reached into his satchel and pulled out the envelope that Madam Pashfarther had sent him. He found the paper that had directions written on it. 

A map on the back told him is Portkey took him somewhere near the famous market, which accounted for all the smells assaulting his nose. Spices, smog, and sweat intermingled to create an interesting odor. He half liked it. 

It appeared that the hotel the Ministry had booked was only a half-mile away. He merely had to follow the street eastward to get there.

On the way, he passed several Muggle women swathed in cloths that looked not to dissimilar from wizard's robes. There were also muggle men in suits and ties, and tourists in brightly colored shirts and pants. 

To be truthful, Draco didn't feel too out of place in his work robes there. It was very different from Muggle London. 

Several people on bicycles passed him, and and one point he had to weave through several street food stalls. But, in the end, he made it out alright. 

The hotel was a dozen stories tall and painted in rainbow, geometric patterns. In neon green, the sign read: _The_   _Hag Sophia_. A caricature of a wart-nosed hag was painted next to it. He laughed at the pun.

So, it was a wizarding hotel. To the muggles, it probably just looked like an abandoned warehouse. 

He pushed himself through the doors and found himself in a very typical wizarding setting. The ground was covered in beautiful carpets with enchanted, moving patterns. It was much cooler inside, and it smelled, oddly enough, of fresh fruit. 

There were several low-lying sofas where a group of American wizards and witches lounged in brightly-colored clothes (which they had probably just bought from the market) and chattered with each other. 

He strutted to the counter, where another non-local wizard in a maroon turban (that reminded him alarmingly of Quirrel) was smiling at him from behind. 

"Welcome to the Hag Sophia, Turkey's only strictly magical hotel," he chirped. "Do you have a reservation?"

Draco nodded, and pulled out another sheet of paper from his satchel and handed it over. 

"Malfoy. Here with the UK Ministry of Magic," he informed him. 

The man scanned over the paper and pulled a key out of a drawer. 

"You're the third Ministry man today," he said while waggling his eyebrows. "Quite a big deal, isn't it?"

Draco tilted his head. He had only thought it would be him and Harry. But there was a third? He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, but, still...

"Who are the other two?" he inquired. 

The man, completely oblivious to customer confidentiality, grinned excitedly. "Some guy named Dubsfield... And Harry Potter." He looked around the room, and then leaned across the counter and whispered furtively, "This _is_ major, isn't it?"

He just frowned and tried to ignore him. "Dubsfield, you said?"

The man waved his hand absently. "Yeah, but he was boring. I nearly pissed myself when I saw Harry Potter though," he confessed. 

"I know the feeling." Draco snorted. 

"And he had a bird with him!" the man added. "What was that all about?"

This time, Draco grimaced. Both Dubsfield and Feldspar? It was going to be a fun trip. 

"Which room am I?" he asked impatiently. 

The man stood up straight. "Right, right. Ministry secrets, sorry. You're room 378." More quietly, he added, "Right next to Mr. Potter."

Of course he was. He bet Harry had planned that. 

"Thank you," Draco said, taking the key. Before he left, he couldn't help but ask, "What's with the turban?"

He made a pouty face. "Mr. Potter asked that, too. Is there something wrong with it?"

Draco gave him a half-smile. He said quietly, "It looks like you're hiding a Dark Lord on the back of your head. Potter and I won't fall for that trick twice." He tried to sound teasing, but it didn't work. 

The man's eyes widened. "Excuse me?" ge demanded incredulously. "This is part of my _religion!"_

Draco bit his lip. "I didn't mean to accuse you of anything!" he said hastily. To himself, he thought, _Last time I saw a white guy with a turban, he wasn't wearing it for godly reasons_. 

The man shook his head. "Enjoy your stay." Once Draco had turned around, he added, "Malfoy bigot."

Draco did not confront him, instead silently climbing onto the lift. He knew his name preceded him. And, really, as a diplomat or anyone else, mocking any cultural or religious habits was a bad idea. 

Thinking of that reminded him of Dubsfield, which made his mood even worse. 

Dubsfield was the closest thing he had to a rival. He was twenty years his senior, but had aged better than Draco could have ever hoped to and was a solid eight inches taller. They hated each other's guts, and not even in a fun or competitive way. 

He knew that because on every time he was sent somewhere with Dubsfield, his Portkey home would be tampered with. Or he would end up with food poisoning and wake up in a back alley. Never enough to kill him, never any direct threats... But it was enough to make him nervous. 

At the the third floor, the lift stopped and he got off. After several turns and loops and much confusion, he found room 378. 

He was tempted to find Harry and say hello first, but he decided he would rather unpack his things first. He unlocked his door and stepped inside. 

The room was small. The walls were painted an ugly beige, and the bedcovers were a weak lime green. It smelled like hot paint and cat piss, which he thought might have been on the account of the hideous shag carpet. It matched the bed except it was significantly more yellow. 

He had a bathroom of his own, but the water only ran cold and it was also extremely cramped. 

The bed was right underneath a window, which he opened immediately for fresh air. It brought in the smell of the city, but he had an interesting view of the market in the distance. In the street below, two children were kicking a ball between each other. 

Draco sat down on the scratchy wool bed and stared at the splintered wooden desk across from him. 

"Fucking ministry budget," he grumbled. He would have paid for a better room himself had he known. 

He got up to unpack his things. He pulled the shruken luggage out of his satchel and returned it to its regular size, but that was as far as he got. He decided he would rather keep everything in his bags. 

The first meeting wasn't for another few hours, so he didn't see any harm in going to visit Harry. Besides, his room might be a little nicer. He tucked his key in his pocket and slid out the door. 

The clerk had said Harry's room was right next to his, which left two options: 276 and 280. He decided he would try 276 first. 

He knocked on the door, but there was no response. He knocked again a few times before finally determining no one was there. 

Then, he went to 280. Knock, knock, knock. 

He heard some grumbling, and then the door knob rattled. Draco couldn't help but smile. 

The door swung open. 

"What do you want?"

It wasn't Harry. Draco felt a stone drop in his stomach as he looked up at a sharp nose and smooth-combed gray hair. And a rude scowl. 

Draco did his best to compose himself and summon his inner diplomat.

"I came to greet my coworker," he said cooly, forcing a smile. "Hello, Mr. Dubsfield."

Dubsfield lowered his head so he didn't smack his forehead on the doorframe. 

"We're not coworkers. I am your superior," he snapped. "Which is why I'm minisculely pleased to see you."

"Oh?"

Dubsfield nodded curtly. "I just wanted to remind you to keep your place. I handle the trade policy, and you deal with the Unspeakables and their wishy-washy healing magic," he growled, giving Draco a harsh glare. 

He could hardly object, because from his perspective, the Unspeakable's work was more important. And Draco never got to feel important around Dubsfield. 

But he objected anyway. "Don't you want that one? It will be more work... Especially for a newbie like me." He coughed and gave Dubsfield a meaningful look. 

"Listen, Malfoy," Dubsfield raised his voice, "I won't have any of your smart talk. I'm giving you an opportunity to shine here--even if it is just because I hate working around the Department of Mysteries." 

So it was only for Dubsfield's benefit. But it meant he got to work with Harry...

"Thank you," he said. 

Dubsfield scowled. "Shut up, Malfoy. It's not like you'll get any recognition for helping something top secret." 

Then, he slammed the door in Draco's face. 

He decided he would not be consuming anything the gray-haired man could access. And he would use Harry's Portkey to get home... Just to be safe. 


	15. Negotiations

After that unfortunate encounter with his least favorite colleague, Draco was left standing dumbfounded in the hall. 

"Shit," he whispered. "Wrong door."

He stood there for a minute, feeling incredibly stupid. Now he didn't know where to look for Harry. Exasperated, he turned around. 

Then, there was the answer: Room 379. It wasn't the room next to his, but it was the number after his. The stupid hotel clerk must have gotten confused. 

He raised his hand to knock on the door, but it was already being opened. Harry was there on the other side, grinning like an idiot. 

"I thought I heard your voice," he whispered. "Come inside, before anyone sees you."

Draco slipped inside, only to find that Harry's room did not smell like cat piss, it was not poorly furnished, and it had a much prettier view. It wasn't as nice as anywhere he might have paid for hinself, but Draco thought it was at least two stars higher in quality than his own. 

"What the hell, Potter?" he demanded. "How come you get such a pretty room?" 

Harry laughed and swept him into embrace, kissing him on the mouth. Draco let out an _oomph_ of surprise.

"Saving Ministry funds. I changed the reservations. I figured you would rather stay in here with me most of the time." He explained. 

"That was presumptuous of you," Draco muttered sourly. He still ran his fingers through Harry's hair, though. 

"Are you complaining?" Harry asked him. 

"No."

"COMPLAINING!"

Draco jumped away from Harry and slammed into the wall. His heart was pounding from the startlement. 

"Fucking Feldspar!" he exclaimed. "You brought the bird, Potter?"

He looked and saw Feldspar sitting in an open cage on the desk. It was  puffing out its chest and looking extremely pleased with itself. 

Harry's face turned red. "I had to. It's kind of his job, too," he explained. 

Draco glared at it, but decided it was only fair. His dog had cockblocked, too. Why shouldn't Harry's bird get to do it, too?

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "We are here for work, you know."

He sighed and ran a hand though his hair. "Right." He agreed. "Which is exactly why I shouldn't clost that bird's cage, pin you to a wall, and snog you senseless only to give us five minutes to get to the first meeting."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "That's a long snog, Malfoy."

"Oh, we can do more than just that," Draco assured him. 

"I won't argue that."

Draco made sure to put a silencing charm on the bird's cage before they began. 

* * *

They ended up making it to the meeting on time. The bird killed the mood before they could get terribly into it, even if it couldn't talk. 

Draco could feel its eyes. Dark marbles of terror. 

And the bird came to the council, too. He decided he would rather maintain eye contact with Dubsfield than catch a single glimpse of the creature. 

Harry looked mostly bored throughout the meeting--an Unspeakable's presence was mostly a formality, as he was not allowed to share much about the nature of his work. The bird seemed to be chattering quietly in his ear, and then would occasionally fly over to another person in the room and bother them. No one seemed to mind.

Draco realized that, having been ordered not to take part in the actual meeting by Dubsfield, he was essentially useless. Any naive ideas he had about secret meetings with Harry and the Turkish underground were quickly diminishing. Dubsfield would do all the work, get all the credit, and Draco would be left alone in the corner, scribbling notes.

Eventually, break was called, and he approached Dubsfield.

"What are you planning on having me do?" he demanded, leaning in front of the taller man and blocking any attempts to casually evade him. "I've just been sitting here and copying points. Can't I do my job, or will you just not shut up?"

Dubsfield bit his lip anxiously and leaned in a little. "Quiet down, Malfoy. I told you, work with the Unspeakables. I've got this covered."

Draco grimaced and glared up at the senior. "You know that's damn near impossible. Why won't you let me in on this?" 

"Listen, Malfoy," he snapped, "You obviously know nothing about the situation. You're an overbearing, immature attention hog."

That was absurd, Draco thought. And completely unnecessary. 

"I was assigned this as well!" he protested. "How hard can negotiating carpets be, anyway? And who are you to determine what I can and cannot do?" 

Dubsfield had lost his patience. "I'm not arguing with you, Malfoy," he sneered. "You always have to do this, don't you? Stay with the Unspeakable, figure out what you can do there. I'm staying here to negotiate."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine!" he said. "You enjoy your high stakes carpet deal, and I'll handle the real issue!" He turned around and stalked off to Harry. 

Dubsfield seemed to pout at that.

Harry was drinking a cup of water and sharing it with Feldspar. 

"You look frazzled," he commented, stroking the bird's head. 

"Clearly," he hissed in reponse. "Dubsfield won't let me negotiate. He says I'm supposed to work with you." 

Harry raised an eyebrow, and pulled an envelope out of his bag. "You are, Malfoy. Didn't you read it over?" he asked. 

Draco turned red, realizing that he hadn't. He had been distracted with finding Dashing a new sitter, and thinking about Harry.... He had just been reading along as he went. 

"No," Draco confessed. "I had been planning on going over it before the meeting, but--"

Harry cut him off with a glare. "But you are easily distracted. And unprepared." 

Right. No mentioning the details of their relationship while surrounded by conniving politicians.

"Madam Pashfarther likes me for my ability to improvise," he retorted in defense. 

But he did feel rather silly. Here he was, thinking that Dubsfield was trying to cut him out, when really he was just trying to tell him to do his assigned job. And to stop improvising, he supposed.

That didn't explain the two times Draco had nearly died while working with him. Or the fact that Dubsfield was an arse.

"Big deal," Harry replied. "This is important, and I need you to know what you're talking about when we go into our side of the meeting." He pointed at Draco's satchel. "Do you have your information? I suggest you stop scribbling about carpets and read up about what you're actually doing here so you know what I'm talking about later."

Then, the Turkish embassador called the meeting back into order. Draco grudgingly put his notes away and pulled out the thick envelope. He tuned out of the meeting and began to read. 

As he read, the fanstasies about Underground meetings with Harry rematerialized. It was very hush-hush, ans very exciting. Nothing like negotiating trade policies.

Just like Madam Pashfarther had described, a local cult of Dark magic practitioners had been using a local, sacred healing art. However, they had twisted it and begun using it to brain-wash innocent muggles into committing their crimes. Instead of soothing spiritual and mental ailments as it intended, it posessed the host's mind.

The crux of the matter was that because it was through the use of the healing art, it was perfectly legal and of the Turkish wizards' hands. The muggles committing the violent acts were arrested by the Muggle law enforcement there, but it wasn't solving the problem. 

That was why the Unspeakables were called upon. They worked outside of International laws, and could exterminate the cult without any legal consequences. Draco hadn't known that; he realized that the Unspeakables were a bit like secret service. 

His job was much less exciting. He was to cemmunicate with the Unspeakable team leader (Harry) and explain the solution to the Turks, along with their limits and capabilities. Dubsfield would negotiate what the British Ministry would recieve in return. 

He was engrossed in a description of the nature of the magic when someone tapped him from behind. It was Harry, the bird still peched on his shoulder.

"Time to head back," he whispered. "The meeting's over."

Draco looked up and saw that most of the room had been cleared of people. He got up and discreetly followed Harry out of the meeting room. 

"Figured it out yet?" Harry asked him with a smirk.

"Yes," Draco muttered, readjusting the shoulder strap of his satchel as he stepped down the staircase. "I still don't see why there had to be two of us, though. I could have handled both sides."

They exited the building and stepped out into the warm Istanbul evening. Feldspar flew off of Harry's shoulder and perched on top of a building.

"That was me, actually," Harry confessed, not showing notice the bird's absencd. "Once you told me you were being sent here as well, I went to your boss and told her that our side of the deal required complete focus from the diplomat," he explained. 

"Will it?" Draco asked, rather nervously. He wasn't sure he coulf _completely_ focus with Harry around. 

"You can handle it," Harry promised, gracefully dodging out of the way of a bicyclist. "For outsiders, working with Unspeakables is essentially repeating whatever we tell you to do."

It sounded easy enough, especially considering it would give him more opportunity--and more excuses--to be with Harry. 

"How convenient," he snickered. 

Harry grinned. "And if I happen to take you out to see the city, no one can ask me what we were doing, because it's secret Department of Mysteries business." 

Draco noticed they were heading out into the city, in the opposite direction of their hotel. There was a buzz of activity on the streets, and he sensed there would be plenty of exciting things to see.

"I applaud your cunning, Potter," he jested, "but aren't we here for work?" 

Feldspar appeared out of nowhere and returned to Harry, landing on his shoulder and chittering into his ear. He seemed to understand it, and he quietly whispered back to the bird as it flew away.

"I am working," he replied, watching the bird go. "Just not field work. I'm supposed to take whatever information the other Unspeakables gather and relay whatever I'm obliged to tell you, and have you repeat it to the Turkish government." 

Draco's lips curved into a confused frown. "How do you gather information, if you're not doing field work?" he inquired. 

"Feldspar," Harry replied with a casual hand gesture. "I told you, he's smarter than you think." He gave Draco an annoying wink.

"And I suppose you really did buy him when you were in Mexico?" Draco inquired with a huff. He doubted half of what Harry had told him about work and Feldspar were true.

"Because that's not applicable to your work," Harry replied slyly, "I'm not obliged to tell you that."

Frustrated with Harry now, Draco looked away and at their surroundings and realized how far they had gone. They were by the market now, and the street was getting a little crowded. He could see tents and stands in the street ahead. His nose was assaulted with the smell of spices, flowers, fresh fish, and cooking oil all at once. 

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, looking around and unable to decide which sight to focus on. They were near the water here, he realized as they rose to the top a hill, and saw the lights from the other side of the city. 

"Exploring," Harry replied. "It's beautiful here. And I hear the food is great!" 

Draco laughed, and carelessly took Harry's hand and tried to lead him towards the market. It sounded like a fun idea to him.

"Let's go, then!"

"Hey!" Harry snapped, pulling his hand away. "We're in public. On a business trip. In a probably untolerant country." He reminded him abruptly with a concerned look. 

Draco stuffed his hands into his pockets, realizing his mistake. "Sorry," he grumbled. "I'm used to muggle zones being safe for this kind of thing." 

Harry slowed down as they entered the market street, pausing to stare at a stall full of colorful fabrics. "Oh, so you go on work-dates a lot?" He scoffed. 

Draco realized that yes, he did, and Harry might not approve of that. 

"Madam Pashfarther encourages me to use whatever means necessary," he coughed. 

"Ah, so that's what you meant by improvising," Harry sniggered. He paused a minute as they passed a door that read _Fortune Telling: Love, Money, and More!_

"But do you really?" Harry asked apprehensively as he tilted his head to meet Draco's gaze. 

Draco looked away from those green eyes, and reached into his pocket to toss a Galleon at a street violinist, without realizing he was a muggle. The man probably would be thankful for the gold coin, though...

"Er, yes," Draco replied eventually, returning his attention to Harry. "I assure you, though, the old witch did not set this up."

"I should hope not," Harry exclaimed, shaking his head and looking somewhat more relieved. "Now, shall we find somewhere to eat?" He suggested breathily. 

"Of course," Draco replied, smiling warmly and resisting the hold to take Harry's hand again. "Though  I doubt anywhere will take us in these robes," he added, chuckling wryly.

Still in their formal attire from the meeting, they decided to ditch the outer robes and stuff them in their bags. Their clothes underneath were Muggle enough to avoid being stared at too much. 

They ended up wandering the markets, sampling fruit and dried goods, gawking at trinkets, pausing to listen to street musicians, and hurrying past butcher's stands. 

Eventually, they found some street food and ate that for dinner while they continued wandering and talking. 

It was unlike any other date Draco had been on, and he said so. 

"Well, good," Harry muttered through a mouthful of a fish sandwich. "I should hope that you don't treat me the same as someone you're planning to politically corrupt."

"I never corrupted anyone!" Draco protested. "I just _influenced their opinions."_

"Pish-posh," Harry replied, crumpling up the paper his sandwich had been in. "Anyway, it's starting to get dark. We should probably head back."

Draco noticed many of the stands had closed, and more and more lights were turning on. 

"Probably," he agreed wistfully, noticing what a beautiful night it was. "Unless you want to go somewhere else?" he inquired. 

Harry shook his head. "What, like a club?" He inquired. "I'm not sure if we can afford any adventurous night life. We _are_ working, after all." 

"You're right," he sighed. "But we should probably get back to the hotel at separate times, don't you think?"

Harry checked his watch. "Probably, yeah, given that nosy clerk. How about you head back now, and I'll find Feldspar? Then I'll meet you back in my room." He suggested. 

"What if I wanted to stay in my own?"

Harry laughed at that. "I have trouble believing you there. My room is much nicer." 

"Yes," Draco agreed, "because you played a cruel trick. Now, I have an option to sleep with you or the bed bugs." 

Harry looked concerned for a minute. "Do you really not want to stay with me?" 

Draco gave him his best Malfoy scowl. "I do," he assured him, "but I'm starting to sense a pattern here. In nearly every situation, you've given me little leeway to say no." He didn't think it was serious, but there was a difference between endearing stubbornness and a red flag for a manipulative relationship. 

"I didn't realize I was being overbearing," Harry replied. "I won't make you do anything you don't want to."

Draco narrowed his eyes and watched Harry for a moment. He decided he was being honest. 

"Fine, Potter," he said. "We'll rendevous in your room at eleven. And, from now on, I get to say no if I want to."

Then, he turned around and headed back to the motel. He was only teasing Harry, of course, but perhaps he had just gone on the defensive. After all, he was used to dating and manipulating for Pashfarther's political gain. So, of course he was paranoid when he realized that Harry was making all the decisions. He didn't want to be taken advantage of himself. 

But he trusted Harry. He had to, whether they were negotiating together for the next week or pursuing a relationship for the next near future. He couldn't afford to be paranoid. 


	16. Humor

"You're paranoid, Draco."

"I am not!" he hissed as he pulled on his pants. "I cannot leave this room until I am one hundred percent certain that Dubsfield is gone."

It was the morning after his second night staying in Harry's room, and the third day of the trip. They had finally gotten through most of the formalities and were going to begin the actual negotiation processes. 

"Then you're going to be late!" Harry replied from the shower. "He wasn't waiting to catch us yesterday morning, or the day before that, so he won't be today!"

Draco threw on a clean shirt and buttoned it up. "The man is out to ruin me, Harry. He won't be settled until my career is destroyed." He said menacingly. 

"On what grounds?" Harry demanded, turning off the water. 

"Twice, when I was on trips with him, my life was endangered!" he cried. "Not to mention the fact that he's constantly telling me what to do."

"Perhaps those two occasions were accidents, and he's only trying to advise you," Harry suggested. He stepped out of the bathroom half-dried and half-dressed.

"Not a chance," Draco snapped. "He hates my guts."

"You're so dramatic," Harry teased him, giving him a quick kiss.

Then, there was a knock on the door. 

"Fuck," hissed Draco. 

"Hide in the bathroom," Harry ordered. "I'll cover."

The knocking continued. Draco ran into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it for good measure. 

He heard the door open.

"Hello, Mr. Potter."

"Hello, Mr. Dubsfield."

 _Shit_.

Draco pressed his ear to the door. What could he want?

"Who were you talking to?" asked Dubsfield. Draco's gut clenched in worry. What did the old fox hear?

"No one, really," Harry said with a laugh. "Just Feldspar. Right, buddy?" 

"Yes, Harry," said a voice that was too similar to Draco's own.

He hadn't known the bird could do that... _All the more reason to dislike it,_ he thought.

"That's bizarre," Dubsfield replied.

"He's very intelligent," said Harry cheerfully. "Anyhow. How can I help you?"

"I was just stopping by to check bases with you before the meeting." Dubsfield said slowly. "Do you think you'll be able to complete the task for them?"

"That's technically something you should be asking Malfoy," Harry said evenly.

"Of course," answered Dubsfield. He sounded weary. "I tried knocking on his door, but he wasn't there."

"Well, he certainly isn't here!" Harry cried with a bit of a squawk.

"Obviously," the old man replied. Draco heard a creak--he must have sat down. "I probably couldn't talk to him anyway. He's stubborn, and he thinks he knows everything. Very hostile, too." He let out a long sigh. "Typical rookie, I suppose. He has promise, though."

Draco hardly believed he meant that. He was probably trying to feign innocence to Harry. In fact, this entire thing was probably planned. Part of his malicious plot. 

"Really?" Harry asked, sounding intrugued. "I'm sure he could use advice, too. He seems like he improvises through most of it."

_No! Harry! You're fraternizing with the enemy!_

"He does, doesn't he? Cocky little bastard." Dubsfield chuckled. "Anyway, I suppose I'll have to find him."

"You should talk to him," Harry suggested, "considering you pose absolutely no threat to each other."

_Get him out, Harry!_

"Anyway, to answer your question, yes, we will fulfill our side of the deal," Harry concluded. 

"Problem solved!" Feldspar cried, in a voice that sounded alarmingly like one of the Turkish ambassadors. 

"How many voices can it do?" Dubsfield asked in awe. 

"Anything you ask," Harry responded, sounding smug. "Though he just acts like a regular bird in public. He's trained to only show this side of himself on missions."

"Pity. It would be an excellent party trick."

"I'm sure," Harry agreed. "But such is the life on an Unspeakable. We can't show are party tricks."

There was another creak; the old man was getting up. 

Finally. He sure was taking his sweet time.

"Have a wonderful day, Mr. Dubsfield."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Dubsfield replied. "Say, your room is very nice compared to mine. Strange, huh?"

Harry laughed uneasily. "Strange."

_Oh, gods. Is he staying longer?_

"Mind if I see your bathroom?" the old man asked with a chuckle. "Just for comparison. Interdepartment budgets are a strange thing."

Draco's heartrate quickened. The door was locked, but if the man opened it, Draco was prepared to Apparate out. 

"Ah, no-can-do, sir," Harry replied, laughing awkwardly. "It's, er, it's locked, you see," he said hestitantly. "I haven't the slightest clue why..."

"What?" Dubsfield inquired, seeming more upset than disbelieving. "Have you tried _Alohomora_? _  
_

Draco clenched his fists and sat down with his back to the door, trying to block it as best as he could.

_This is bad. Very bad. Shit. Please don't try and be helpful...._

"It won't work, sir," Harry said quickly--bless him. "The bathroom is, er, cursed. That's why my room is nicer for the same price! You can't get into the bathroom."

Draco had to bite his hand then to prevent himself from laughing. That was _quite_ the explanation.

"Oh." Dubsfield sounded a little taken aback. "Then why is your hair wet?" he demanded. More aggresive now, but still uneasy. 

Harry paused, and Draco worried that they were done for. Behind the door, he silently rooted for him to come up with something else.

"Oh, that?" Harry asked. "Good ol' _Augamenti_ , sir."

Draco heard the splatter of water on the floor, and he guessed Harry had demonstrated. He bit down harder on his hand at the image of Harry pouring water on himself in front of a flabbergasted Dubsfield. It was almost too hard not to laugh...

"Merlin!" Dubsfield gasped, horrified. "But... What about... _relieving_ yourself?" he whispered. 

"There's a window, sir," Harry replied immediately. 

Draco could have screamed. Now the threat wasn't Dubsfield finding him, it seemed, but hearing him. He was shaking from silent, heaving laughter.

"Oh, gods"--the old man sounded like he was gagging--"that... That is terrible." There was the sound of footsteps. "If you ever need a real toilet..."

"No bother. It reminds me of my childhood," Harry said innocently. 

Draco let out a snorting sound. And then he stiffened, realizing his mistake. 

"I really must be going," Dubsfield announced, thankfully not noticing the noise. The door opened, and then closed. 

Draco took a deep breath, but did not move.

He heard the door open again. He took several more deep breaths to calm himself; his heart was still racing. Harry was probably checking to see if he had gone. It closed.

"He's gone," Harry announced.

Draco immediately burst open the bathroom door.

"Nice improvising," he wheezed, as he started laughing hysterically, as he was unable to in his hiding spot. He crumpled to the floor, laughing all the way into the pool of water from Harry's demonstration. 

Harry joined in, cackling as well. His hair was soaked from the water, and his cheeks were bright red. 

They laughed all the tension away, until their sides hurt. 

"We really should get to the meeting," Draco choked out at last, getting to his feet.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, wiping away a tear. 


	17. End Goal

It was hard to focus in the meeting. Luckily, Dubsfield was not there, or else Draco doubted he would be able to control himself. He might have begun laughing again. 

And this was no laughing matter. They were in a small, official building on the opposite side of the city where the first meetings had been held. Today's conference was not about trade negotiations; they were meeting with Istanbul's wizarding law enforcement to convey the Unspeakable's task. 

"Say exactly what I told you last night," Harry whispered to Draco as they entered the conference room, which was small and yellow and smelled pf burnt coffee.

"You said lots of things last night," Draco whispered back teasingly, "and I don't think I'm comfortable saying them in front of everyone."

He felt Harry hit him with a discreet stinging hex, and he winced. 

"Be professional, Malfoy," he ordered, pulling away from Draco and sitting down on one of the cheap fold-up chairs. 

Draco took a seat next to him.

In a few minutes, the meetings began. A translation charm was cast over the room so no one had to struggle in the other's language. It also meant that no secrets could be muttered in a language someone else wouldn't understand.

Draco did his best to repeat what Harry had told him about the Unspeakable's plan to handle the Dark practicioners. He told them how many Unspeakables would be deployed into the city (though not mentioning that there already were several there already, as Harry told him not to), how long they would need, and other details that he couldn't quite comprehend the meaning of. 

He understood why everyone hated working with the Unspeakables. He was hardly given any information to work with, and was quite literally forced to spit out the exact words Harry had given him to say. The only reason he was even needed, it seemed, was because of a quirk in the Unspeakable vows that Harry could only disclose information to a single outsider at a time, even if it was for a case. Which, clearly, was not suitable for a conference environment. 

Essentially, Draco was a translator. It was boring, restrictive, and confusing. He hardly knew half of what he was saying.

Also, he was used to nicer locations for his diplomacy work. High ceilings, stone floors, maybe some portraits of famed important wizards to throw in their say--traditional locations for these meetings. But, no, the Unspeakables had to be discreet and meet in a cheap muggle building...

It wasn't his best work trip. 

But, it had meant several days with Harry. So, even while he was bored to tears and missing the excitement of on-his-toes improvisation, he reminded himself of the positives. 

Harry was good at reminding him, too. Whenever he could, he might discreetly slide a hand onto Draco's knee assuringly from under the table. Or, when Draco said something particularly on point, he would earn a fleeting smile. 

When the meeting finally ended, the room had grown stuffy, and Draco was eager to be back on his feet. He quickly snuck out of the door, and Harry followed soon after, as he wasn't exactly going to stay behind to chat with anyone. 

Draco felt like he had just finished a long day of classes and was finally going to go on holiday. His work in Istanbul was done a few days early, and he was so grateful to finally be over with it. 

Harry caught uo with him as they walked back to the hotel. 

"Are you going home?" Draco asked him. "Or do you need to stay here for more work?"

Harry grinned at him. "I'm free to go. I told you, this isn't a field work assignment." 

Draco was more than thrilled to hear that. He looked around and realized it was still early in the afternoon, and it was a beautiful (if not warm) day. 

"Well, Potter," he said with a wink, "it's a beautiful day to explore the city one last time. Care to join me?"

Harry gave him an apologetic smile. "Actually, while that sounds brilliant, I'm itching to get out of here." He muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Besides, I don't want to risk running into another Unspeakable like yesterday."

"You're such a bore," Draco sighed, "but fine. At least come with me to the Portkey office?" he asked hopefully. 

"I'm not a bore, I'm just sick of sneaking around and staying in a subpar hotel," Harry retorted. "But, yes, I suppose we can both get our Portkeys together." 

Draco, satisfied with that, skipped on ahead to the hotel. 

* * *

They ended up sharing a Portkey, because their work was over, and there was no one important around to see them and be suspicious. It also saved money, and Draco thought he might convince Harry to spend a little more time with him. 

The Portkey took them to a field not far from where Draco lived, as he had specified. Harry lived in the city, so Portkey-ing close to where he lived would have been dangerous, and inconvenient. 

The field was green from spring rain, and it was cloudier and cooler back in England than it had been in Istanbul. There was a blissful silence that Draco had forgotten how much he missed in those few days staying in the hubbub of the trade city. He took in a deep breath of home.  

Out alone in the field, Harry didn't protest when Draco took his hand.

"Tired?" asked Draco, glancing over at Harry, who had closed his eyes and was breathing contentedly. 

"A little," Harry replied. "But more relieved. Work takes it out of me, mostly because I usually don't have to be around so many people." He squeezed Draco's hand and took a long breath. 

"You hardly spoke," Draco scoffed. "I did all the work for you."

"But I did all the brainwork beforehand. _And_ I had to deal with you."

Draco rolled his eyes. As far as he remembered, Harry had been most happy to _deal_ with him. After all, hadn't he been the one to originally insist that Draco stay with him?

"Well, Potter," Draco said, tugging on his hand as he began to walk towards the road, "will you continue dealing with me, or are you planning on going straight home?" 

Harry took his time responding, apparently weighing his options. They walked through the high, wet grass and soaked through their shoes until they reached the old, paved road. 

"I think I'll continue for a day or so," Harry said at last, "if not just because I don't have much to go home to right now."

Draco frowned, wondering what he meant by that. Then, he realized. 

"Potter, where's the bird?" he demanded, seeing it wasn't on Harry's shoulder or anywhere in the air. 

Had something happened to Feldspar without him realizing? Gods, he hoped not... He hadn't even noticed! How careless could he be?

He felt a flutter of worry inside of him, and he realized he had been squeezing Harry's hand rather relentlessly. Harry was watching him with a curious gaze.

"He's fine, Draco," he promised softly, a smirk lining the corners of his mouth. "I didn't realized you cared."

Draco let go of his hand and took a step away. "I don't!" he cried defensively. "I just know _you_ care about the damned thing, and I--" He broke off when Harry silenced him with a quick kiss. 

"It's okay, Draco," he whispered mischeviously. "I know what you mean."

Draco was about to protest that Harry absolutely did _not_ know what he meant, and that he most certainly did not care about the devilish winged monster. But, then he thought better of it. If Harry thought he cared, and that meant more kisses from him... Then so be it. 

"If he's not with you, and he's perfectly fine," Draco asked cautiously, "then where is he?" 

Harry took Draco's hand back, and they started walking down the road towards the house.

"He's trained to help the Unspeakables," Harry informed him. "You saw what he does with his voice. They needed him there as a messenger. I'll pick him up at the Ministry in a week or so." He seemed perfectly fine with that. 

Draco couldn't see why. If Dashing was left with any of his colleagues and around dangerous Dark wizards... Well, he didn't think he could sleep at night. 

Speaking of Dashing, the dog was there to greet hin when they walked up to the front of the house. He had been playing fetch with the children that the sitter brought, and they let out dismayed cries as Dashing neglected their frisbee to greet Draco and Harry. 

Barking and slobbering and leaping, Dashing nearly knocked Draco over. He was overjoyed to see him again, and Draco was reminded not for the first timre of how much he depended on his companion animal. 

Harry hung back and laughed, until Dashing began to shower him in affection, too. 

Then, the sitter ran up, looking frazzled and nervous. 

"You're back early!" she cried. "I wasn't expecting you to be back." She seemed frantic--alarmingly so. 

"Is everything alright?" Draco asked her, shooing Dashing away to play with the children. 

"F-fine," she replied. "A bit of a mess... With the children..." She trailed off, looking remotely terrified. 

Draco sighed. Poor Muggle. Little did she know there was nothing he couldn't fix with a cleaning charm. And, it was his fault, after all, for coming home early. 

Harry stepped forward and smiled warmly. "I'm sure it's fine," he assured her. "We can clean up. Why don't you collect your things and head home?" he asked. He was the picture of charm. 

The sitter blinked in shock, looked back at the children, and then at Draco. 

"Mr. Malfoy?" she asked hesitantly. 

Draco looked over at Harry, and decided that it was best to get the sitter and the children out as soon as possible.

"Thank you for watching Dashing," he told her. "I'm sure he loved the children. I'm sorry for arriving early, though," he added, trying to exercise his compassion. She probably knew she was the fifth sitter he'd tried, and was worried about getting fired. 

"No, I'm sorry," she replied, again glancing back at the children. "We left quite a mess. It's the least I can do to help clean--"

Draco cut her off by pulling a wad of muggle money out of his pocket. 

"This is what you would have been paid if I had come back on time. Take it, and we can clean up," he said firmly, placing it in her hands. 

She stared at it, dumbfounded. 

"Are you sure?"

Harry placed an arm around Draco and raised an eyebrow at the sitter.

"He's sure," he said slowly. "Thanks for everything." He added the usual charismatic Potter grin. 

Draco nodded. "You're free to go."

She nodded, and ran back to gather her children and her things. Draco called Dashing and walked with Harry into the house. 

It wasn't that bad, he thought. They had stayed out of upstairs, nothing had been ripped to shreds, and--

 _Oh_. 

His white sofa was splattered with paint, and the floor around it was covered with art supplies. 

The sitter ran in, stuttered an apology, and tried to give the money back. 

He forced a smile. "Take it," he affirmed. "Just, ah, don't bring children again. Ever." 

She didn't say a word; she just grabbed her things and ran out of the door. 

Dashing jumped right onto the sofa and settled himself, wagging his tail and panting happily. He let out a _woo-ooh-ooh_ and a sharp bark. 

"Well, let's clean this mess up," Harry declared with a laugh. "Then we can do something fun."

It was easy enough. A few scouring spells and the paint was gone. Draco gathered up the art supplies and put them in a box; he would have to find a way to mail it to her. 

He decided that she wasn't too bad of a sitter, because Dashing seemed plenty happy. She didn't leave him alone the entire time like some did, and clearly had given him companions to play with. 

Also, he wanted to see the shock on her face when he would ask if he could hire her again. 

Harry laughed when he said that. It was a happy laugh, a tired laugh. 

"Well, what do we do now that's done?" Draco asked him, settling on the now clean sofa. 

Harry sighed and sat down next to him, resting his head on his chest. Draco liked it more than he wanted to admit; the weight was comforting. He absently fiddled with messy, dark hair. It was soft and smelled like peppermint. 

"Sleep?" Harry suggested. "I'm just now realizing how exhausted I am."

Draco agreed with him. His head was buzzing with tiredness and his eyes were beginning to ache. He was becoming less and less capable of coherent thought. 

"Good idea." He yawned. Then, another good idea came to him. 

"Harry," he began, sitting up straight and forcing Harry to get up as well. "There's a dinner in a few weeks for the International Department. I'm required to go, and I need a date," he said, and watched for registration in Harry's face, which came in the form of raised eyebrows and a grin. 

"Would you care to be that date?" Draco finished, knowing the answer already. 

"Weren't we just trying to hide our relationship from your colleagues?" Harry chuckled. He was right, of course.

"We were," Draco admitted, his tiredness pushing his confidence further. "But that was on a professional trip, and no offense, but I don't want to work with Unspeakables again." 

Harry just laughed again, not minding. 

"I understand completely. You seemed pretty bored," he remarked.

He still didn't say yes, though. 

Draco set his jaw, feeling slightly annoyed. He had always said he didn't want to chase Harry, to be the one asking... But it was what he had wanted in the first place, and damn it, he was going to get it. 

"Well," he continued, still looking into Harry's eyes, "I just thought it might be a good way to make things official." 

"Official?" Harry asked, looking amused. 

"Yes, Potter," Draco spat, now getting very aggravated, "we've been pretty casual so far. Now, stop being such a git and answer the question!" 

Harry blinked a few times.

"Oh," he murmured. "Oh!" His eyes lightened. "I thought you knew I would say yes." He said, smiling sheepishly. 

"No, I didn't know!" Draco cried, shoving Harry away. "I told you, I need to hear you _say_ it!" 

Harry scooted back towards Draco and once again settled his head on his chest. 

"And I thought I made it clear that my actions speak for me," he replied with a soft little sigh. "After all the pursuing I've done, you'd think it was clear I'd agree to being your _date_ to anything." He laughed wryly and curled up closer. 

Draco resumed stroking his hair. "Well, I suppose I don't think that way," he murmured absently. 

"That's because you're a paranoid, Slytherin prat," Harry said with a blissful smile on his face. 

Draco supposed he couldn't really argue with that. 

 


	18. Companions

It was Friday night, and Draco had decided not to go for drinks with Neville. Instead, he had invited all of his friends over to his house for dinner. 

He had picked several carnations from the garden and put them in a glass jar out on the patio table, which he had set with his best dishware. He made a fresh salad from the nearby muggle farmer's markey and cooked dinner from scratch out of an old recipe book his mother had given him a few years back. 

Pansy, Blaise, and Neville all arrived through the floo around the same. Draco was still in the kitchen, finishing the final touches on the meal. 

Pansy drifted into the kitchen and began clearing the pans he had finished using, while Blaise and Neville went out to the patio with a few beers. 

"What's the occasion, Malfoy?" she asked him slyly. 

"Nothing," he replied coyly. He handed her the salad bowl. "Be a dear and carry that out?" He asked. 

She glared at him, but took the bowl all the same. 

"I'll wring an answer out of you yet," she replied, walking out to the back door. 

He laughed to himself and finished transferring everything onto the serving plates. He used a levitation charm to carry it out to the back yard, where Dashing was asleep on the grass, and Pansy was whispering to the other two at the table. 

They went silent when he arrived, staring at him expectantly. 

"Hungry?" he asked them, setting down each of their plates. 

"Always," Blaise replied earnestly, immediately distracted by the food.

"Quite," Pansy agreed, "but more curious than anything." She folded her hands on top of the table. 

"What's got you in such a grand mood that you invite us all to dinner?" Neville questioned. 

Draco sat down with them, smiling ignorantly. He had invited them over because they were all friends, of course... And he wanted to gloat. 

But he planned on holding it over their heads for a while, even if they had already guessed.

"I've just gotten back from another successful business trip," Draco informed them as he served himself some salad. "Is it such a surprise that I want to reconvene with all of my friends?" he asked innocently. 

Through a big mouthful of greens, Blaise said, "It must have been very _successful_."

"Agreed," Pansy giggled. "What great service have you done us all this time?" 

"Magic carpets," Draco answered, taking a bite of food. After swallowing, he continued, "Now you can fly in the comfort of your own home."

"That's all?" asked Neville. "Did you even bring home a carpet to show for it?" He looked terribly disappointed. 

"It never crossed my mind," Draco admitted. 

"Now we're getting somewhere," Pansy announced. "What had you preoccupied?" she demanded. 

"Work," he replied evenly. "Seeing the city. Enjoying myself."

All the while, Blaise was smirking. Pansy was clearly flustered, and Neville was probably annoyed he was wasting his Friday night to celebrate carpets. 

"Any guesses what that means?" Blaise asked the other two. Half of his food was already gone. 

"Potter." Pansy answered immediately. "What else? But I don't see where he fits in." She clacked her purple fingernails on the tabletop. 

"Yeah," Neville agreed, "but Harry hasn't told me anything. So maybe it's all in Draco's head," he whispered. 

"I'm right here," Draco reminded him bitterly. "And that didn't bother me like it was supposed to."

Neville shrugged. "Teach me to target your vulnerabilities," he said passively.

Draco was going to argue that he had no vulnerabilities, but Pansy spoke before he could. 

"What do you think, Blaise?"

He set down his fork and looked at them all triumphantly. Draco realized he must have known something, though he couldn't fathom how...

"I think my girlfriend is very close to Harry, and I may or may not have a pretty good idea about what happened on Draco's 'business' trip." Blaise used his hands to put air quotation marks around "business," as if that were questionable.

"Draco!" Pansy exclaimed, aghast. 

"Good work, mate," Neville laughed, slapping Draco on the back. 

He blushed profusely. "It _was_ a business trip," he insisted, "though now I regret not being more forward with you all. Yes, I spent the trip with Harry," he announced, unable to stop himself from smiling. 

"Well?" Pansy asked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She crossed her arms and glared at Draco. 

"It means he got laid," Neville translated, grinning lopsidedly. "Obviously."

"No!" Draco exclaimed. "I mean, yes, but, that's not why--"

Neville let out a whoop and interrupted him, jarring Dashing from his sleep. 

"It's about time!" he laughed. 

Blaise began applauding. "We were beginning to worry about you."

Pansy just sat there like a pissed off cat. She knew--dearest Pansy, she always knew--that there was more to it. 

"No, no, no," Draco grumbled. "I did not want that to be the spectacle of the evening!" He snapped. 

"Then what is it?" Pansy asked, having grown exasperated. 

"I just thought you should know that all my Potter woes have been resolved," he announced happily, "and that we are officially dating." Satisfied with that, he continued eating. 

"Was it before or after the sex?" Blaise asked imprudently.

"And how was 'working' with Harry?" Neville chimed in with a chuckle. 

Draco completely ignored Blaise, and overlooked the connotations of Neville's question. 

"We kept it professional while doing business," Draco replied grudgingly. "But he's my date to the department dinner."

"Congrats!" Pansy cheered. "Now Poshfather won't be supplying you more greasy politicians."

"That's not her name," Draco grumbled, "but I should think she'll cut back on the greasy politicians," he agreed with a wry laugh. 

"So, that's it, then?" Neville asked, pushing away his half-eaten plate. "Because if that's all you're sharing, I have better ways to spend my Friday evening."

"Come on, Nev," Blaise protested. "It's still so early!"

"Yes," Draco agreed, grabbing Neville's wrist. "Besides. I invited you all here to enjoy the company of friends. I missed you all." He grinned charmingly at them all. 

Blaise scoffed. 

"That means he wants to spend a last lingering evening with all if us before devoting his entire life to Potter." He translated with a sneer. 

Draco couldn't believe him. 

"Blaise!" he cried. "What injustice! I would never do that! You're all what matters most!" He protested, pointing a fork aggressively at Blaise.

"What?" he snapped. "It's what I did. For the first month, at least."

Draco rolled his eyes. It was true that Blaise had done so, but it didn't mean he wanted to. 

"I wouldn't mind if you took a few Fridays off from me," Neville cut in. "You should go and do something wild for a while. Harry's good for that."

"Thanks, Longbottom," he growled sarcastically, though he was suddenly imagining with a smile some exotic vacation to a warm place. Harry would be with him, of course, and there would be no nosy colleagues or hiding in the toilet this time. 

"And I need a few weeks to power through the rest of the term at law school," Pansy added, giving him a wink that meant she was probably planning on finding a girl to date.

Blaise nodded enthusiastically. "Take Harry far, far away. Gods know it gets weird having my girlfriend staying on close terms with her ex."

Draco laughed at them all, for being so helpful and so selfish.

"You're all shit," he teased.

But he knew they would always be there in the future, whether Harry stayed with him or not. There would always be Fridays with Neville, random drop-ins from Blaise, and pep-talks from Pansy to get his head back on. 

Dashing lifted his head to let out a pointed bark, as if to remind Draco that he would always be there, too.

He smiled to himself. They would always be there for him.

But he needed a little while with Harry to make sure that he would be there, too.

And he was happy with that.  


	19. Achievement

"Gods, Potter, straighten your tie," Draco grumbled. "This is a very high-class event, and you will _not_ look like a fool."

He walked over to Harry and readjusted his robes. They were just outside of the dinner party venue, where they had agreed to meet.

"I look fine," Harry mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Draco hadn't even attempted to criticize that; there was no way to make it look nice. 

"You look quintessentially Harry Potter," Draco sighed, scrutinizing him. Then, he scowled. "Merlin, are those the same robes you wore to the Yule Ball? Wasn't that a decade ago?" he demanded, clutching the fabric. 

Harry shoved him away. "How would you remember?" He asked defensively. "And they're not. This is just the only color I know looks good on me." He crossed his arms and gave Draco a sour look. 

That was enough of that. 

"I'm sorry," Draco sighed, stealing a quick kiss while he could. It was dark out, and no one was around. "I'm just nervous, I suppose."

Harry smirked and took his arm. "Don't be," he said lowly. "I'm the Savior of the Wizarding World. No matter how badly I screw up, I'll still blow them away." They began to walk to the entrance. 

"Don't get cocky, Potter," Draco cut back. "This is a room full of politicians. Anything and everything will be used against you."

Before Harry could reply, they were at the entrance. A tall wizard in Auror robes stood at the door, a piece of parchment and quill floating in the air next to him. 

Judging by the expression on his face, he clearly recognized both of them. Still, he asked, "Name and position?"

"Draco Malfoy," he replied. "Diplomat."

The quill scribbled something on the parchment, and the Auror peered over to read it. 

"And your plus one?" he inquired, looking away from the paper and straight at Harry. 

"Harry Potter," said Harry with a grin. "Unspeakable," he added for extra effect. 

The Auror raised his eyebrows, his face twisting in _I can't believe it_ and _I knew it_ at the same time. And, of course, he couldn't resist saying something. 

"Both really big names, you two," he commented. "Though I never thought I'd see 'em together." He took another look at the paper and shook his head. "Go right on through, sirs."

Harry and Draco entered the hall arm in arm. It was high-ceilinged, and he remembered hearing that it had once been a theater. It still had the red velvet curtains, and the room had brilliant acoustics. The live band across the hall sounded brilliant. 

"This is not my element," Harry whispered, gripping Draco's arm even harder. 

"Well, _I'm_ right at home," he replied, "so I think that puts us at a nice net average." 

He spotted Madam Pashfarther through the dim light, across the hall and chatting with Dubsfield. The latter turned his head and made eye contact.

"Oh, look," Harry pointed out, nodding discreetly in their direction. "It's our dear friend Dubsfield," he snickered. 

Draco immediately began to pull Harry in a different direction. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. 

"Oh look," he mimicked him as they walked away, "the hors d'oeuvres table." He dragged Harry towards the white clothed table covered in appetizers. 

Harry rolled his eyes and followed. They tried to blend in as best they could by the table--or at least Draco did. Harry immediately began devouring something that looked like a quiche with both of his hands. 

Regardless, though, they attracted some attention. They were some of the youngest people in the room, and certainly some of the most well-known. People began gravitating towards them.

"Potter, you'll have plenty of opportunity to eat when the dinner starts," Draco snapped. "That man walking towards us has a seat at the Wizengamot, so look sharp." 

"Right," Harry muttered, licking his hands clean.

Draco winced; that would make for a lovely handshake. "I'll do the talking," he decided.

The man approached them and gave them a stiff smile. He was Herman Flute, who was approaching one hundred but looked and acted thirty years younger. 

"Mr. Malfoy," he said, shaking Draco's hand. "It's wonderful to see you again." He turned to face Harry. "Am I right in saying that this is Mr. Potter?" he asked, awe lining his voice. 

"It is," Draco replied, stepping closer to Harry. 

"And what are you doing here, Mr. Potter? I hadn't realized you had gone into International work," Flute added in curiosity. 

Harry laughed nervously. "I haven't, sir," he said, giving Draco a look that said _What do I say?_

Draco smiled at Flute and put an arm around Harry's waist. He was Harry Potter, after all, and Draco decided he wanted to have fun with it. 

"Harry is my date, Mr. Flute," Draco explained. 

The old man's eyes widened. "I see," he murmured, turning to face the table. "Are those crab cakes I see?" he inquired, turning away to get some food.

And so it went with most of the people they mingled with. Plenty of rich, distinguished old people asking polite questions and boasting about work and status. 

It only lasted about a half hour, until the actual dinner began. People began drifting to their tables, which were assigned. 

Draco found their table. The name tags had been charmed to fit the list, so both of their names were shown. They sat down next to each other, and waited for the other four people to sit down with them. 

He was not at all surprised at his misfortune. Madam Pashfarther arrived with Dubsfield a few minutes later. The former watched them with curious violet eyes, and the latter with confusion. 

"Did the Istanbul deal make you a member of International, Mr. Potter?" he asked as he took a seat. 

"It most certainly did not," Madam Pashfarther responded eagerly, sitting down with an almost youthful bounce. She was grinning mischievously. 

"I'm still just an Unspeakable, Mr. Dubsfield," Harry replied politely. 

Dubsfield grimaced. "Then I still do not understand why you're at this event," he grumbled, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap. 

"Hush, Jeffrey," Pashfarther snapped at Dubsfield. She turned to Draco, and asked, "Before or after Turkey?"

Draco blinked, a little taken aback. "Before, ma'am," he replied, assuming she was asking about his relationship with Harry. "Only casually, though, until after," he added. 

She smirked and placed her napkin on her lap. "Oh, I knew it was a good idea," she murmured happily to herself.

"What?" demanded Dubsfield.

"I second that," Harry said. "I don't follow what's going on."

"Harry, this is my boss, Juliana Pashfarther," Draco introduced him. "And Madam Pashfarther, this is my date that I mentioned, Harry Potter."

Madam Pashfarther just smiled devilishly. "Hello, Mr. Potter," she hummed. "I believe you owled me about the hotel arrangements in Turkey."

"Excuse me?" Dubsfield interrupted. He gave them all a disturbed look. 

Harry met his eye, and responded cooly, "There was no cursed bathroom, sir."

"Oh," Dubsfield murmured, blinking in shock and confusion. "I see."

"And look who's joining us!" Madam Pashfarther exclaimed. "Welcome, Councilor Garner."

Draco spun his head to look. It was indeed Garner, as greasy and sour-looking as he remembered. He immediately glared at Pashfarther.

"What?" she whispered. "I had to supply you a back up in case you were lying about having a date."

"Good evening, everyone," Garner said, taking the open seat next to Harry. "Mr. Malfoy," he added calmly, looking over at Draco.

"Garner," Draco replied. "Meet my date, Harry Potter."

Garner blinked and stared at Harry, and then at his name tag.

"Mr. Potter," he murmured incredulously. "It's a pleasure to meet you, even given the current circumstances." He turned away to converse politely with a still-flabbergasted Dubsfield.

A moment later, an elderly woman with dyed-orange hair arrived to sit next to Dubsfield, and dinner began. Food appeared on their plates, and the music changed to something a little more lively. 

Dinner conversation was stiff. Dubsfield spent the entire time glaring at Draco, and then muttering to himself as he looked at Harry. Madam Pashfarther not-so-subtly interrogated Harry about his plans and intentions with Draco. Garner glumly ate his meal while the elderly woman next to him idly chattered about her life. 

It went in relative peace, however, and after a while, Draco thought he was enjoying himself. Despite Harry's crass knowldege of fine etiquette, he was rather endearing and everyone loved to talk to him. Draco could imagine taking Harry to more of these events. 

But not too many. By the end of the night, Harry had tired out. As Draco led him outside to apparate away, he was grumbling about how miserable he had been.

"How was I supposed to know what to do with all four forks?" He demanded, now holding Draco's hand shamelessly. "That git Garner didn't have to call me out on it."

"He was just jealous, love," Draco assured him quietly. 

Harry squeezed Draco's hand and laughed. "What did you just call me?" he asked lightly. 

"Love," Draco replied. "A pet name. Do you mind?" he questioned, suddenly worrying if he had overstepped some bound. 

"Not at all," Harry murmured. "I could get used to you saying things like that, you know."

"Well, don't get too used to it," Draco snapped, though he was only teasing. "I can only let myself be so sweet, you know."

Harry pecked him on the cheek. "It's nice to know you're finally sweetening up to me, then," he replied. 

"I'm like nice cologne," Draco mused. "Bitter at first, but I get nicer the longer you wear me." He grinned when Harry rolled his eyes.

He nudged him in the ribs. "Alright, now, Malfoy. Don't get too full of yourself," he warned him. "Why don't we head back to your place? I'm sure the roommate won't mind my absence."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Draco agreed. He Apparated them back to his house.

Dashing was waiting for them in the living room. In the past few weeks, he had grown used to Harry's visits. Even though it meant he had to stay downstairs for the night, the dog was always happy to ses him. 

"Hullo, you big mutt," Harry laughed, crouching down to scratch him on the ears. "Do I smell like rich old people?" he asked. 

Dashing just rolled onto his back and made some noise. _Yes, you do._

Draco laughed and sat down on the sofa. "You'll be getting Feldspar back from the other Unspeakables soon, won't you?" He asked Harry, lounginh back and removing his tie. 

"Two days," Harry replied happily, now half-wrestling with Dashing on the floor. "And I won't apologize about it," he added sharply. 

"No need to," Draco replied with a smirk. "I can get used to the bird." 

"Can you?" Harry asked casually, pausing to look up at him with raiser eyebrows. 

"Certainly," he replied firmly. "I like you too much to let a stupid bird get in the way."

Harry stood up. "Well, then," he said quietly, "why don't we go upstairs and take off these stiff robes?"

Draco immediately got up. "Another excellent proposition." He grinned. "I'm starting to think you're full of good ideas, Potter."

"Oh, I am," Harry responded as they went up the stairs, leaving Dashing behind. "If it weren't for my brilliant plan to ask you out, we wouldn't be here in the first place."

"I played some part!" Draco protested.

"Bollocks." Harry snorted. "You wanted to be pursued from the start. And you wouldn't do anything but play hard to get!"

Draco pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door. "Well, I got you to _say_ things." 

"That's not my priority," Harry answered, beginning to strip. "You need to talk less and do more, Malfoy."

Draco couldn't protest that just then. He immediately set to undressing. 

"I'll show you what I can _do_ , Potter." 


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to post this. I could say something cheesy, like I didn't want this story to end... But in actuality, I've been super busy. 
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed this with me. :)

It had been a lovely several weeks for Draco, filled with tropical sunsets, romantic dinners, and long nights spent with Harry. In between short Portkey adventures, they went to their local park with Dashing and Feldspar, wandered around Diagon Alley, or spent time at home. 

During that time, Draco had realized that, yes, he loved Harry. And that Harry would be there for him, just as his friends were. 

After their few weeks of vacation together, they had to go back to the 'real' world, which really wasn't all that bad for Draco. Drinks with Neville, breakfasts with Pansy, surprise drop-ins from Blaise, taking Dashing to parks, and even the occasional diplomatic trip.

Harry was there with him quite often in between secretive Unspeakable activities, which he could never tell Draco about. Feldspar was there as well, though he kept his beak shut most of the time. Draco had grown not to mind it, as Harry began to spend more and more time with him at home. 

Summer came, still damp and wet and cool. Draco had just gotten back from a wonderful work trip to Spain, and Harry was most likely still dispatched somewhere.

Dashing was curled up on the sofa, waiting. He had hired the sitter girl again, but she had asked for Draco's exact arrival time, and apprently she had used it to clear out before he got there. Poor girl; she must have been terrified. 

"I brought you back a bone," Draco told the docile dog, who had wriggled off the sofa to greet him. 

 _Of course you did,_ Dashing seemed to say. _You owe me._

Draco laughed and pulled it out of his satchel, still wrapped in paper. He had brought back other things for him and Harry. Almonds, olive oil, a bottle of red wine neither of them would know enough about--

"Why would I want a bone?" A voice called from upstairs, startling Draco.

He sighed, realizing Harry must have decided to come over.

"I was talking to the only person I expected to be here!" he shouted towards the upstairs.

"Who, the sitter? Why would she want a bone?" inquired Harry, probably laughing to himself. 

Draco rolled his eyes and set down his bag on the floor. "No, Potter, I meant the dog," he snapped in response, casting a _Sonorous_ charm on himself. "Get down here and explain yourself!" He added, his charmed voice three times as loud as it had been before.

He heard something clatter; Harry must have been startled. 

"Fine, I'm coming!" Harry exclaimed, sounding a little exasperated. A few moments later, he was clomping down the stairs, half-dressed and wet-haired.

Dashing trotted over to wag his tail at Harry and sniff at him. Draco just watched with raised eyebrows. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked Harry, both amused and confused. 

"I knew you'd be home today, so I thought I'd surprise you," he replied, grinning. He patted Dashing on the head, and then strode over to give Draco a quick kiss.

"So you just decided to drop in? Take a shower?" He was loathe to break away, but he was also curious.

"Naturally," Harry hummed in response, moving in for another kiss. 

Draco rolled his eyes but gave in, having missed the contact when he was away in Spain. Not to mention, he needed to unwind. He decided to deepen the kiss, smiling into it.

Then Harry, cruel basted he was, broke away just as it was getting good.

"Mmph!" he exclaimed, holding up a finger and looking excited. "I almost forgot."

"Can you forget for a few more minutes?" Draco pleaded, leaning in again. 

"No, because five minutes will lead to ten, and you know where we'll go from there," Harry murmured, grinning ridiculously.

"Then what is it?" he demanded, done with the delay.

"It's been three months to the day since our first date," Harry reminded him.

"Which one? And who's counting?"

"The double date. And I am, clearly."

Draco groaned, but he was secretly pleased. Harry was so sentimental at times. It was touching. 

He was about to kiss him again, glad to have the pleasantries over. But then Harry had stopped him by placing a finger on his lips and kept smirking like he was up to something.

Then, Draco heard that goddamned bird Feldspar begin to screech. Harry jumped as well, and all of a sudden, Neville tumbled into the room, bird in tow.

"Gah! It bit me!" he cried, trying to shake it off. 

Harry cackled in laughter, but Draco was mortified. It only got worse when Blaise and Ginny appeared, too, looking utterly frustrated. 

"You spoiled it, Longbottom!" Blaise cried. 

"Hey! It's not his fault he's no good with surprises!" Ginny protested. 

Pansy appeared then, too, bedecked in black and sparkles and five inch heels. 

"You're all a bunch of shits, you are," she growled, glaring at each of them. 

Draco blinked and gathered his bearings. He certainly hadn't expected all of his friends to show up at his house. Not that he was exactly complaining...

"What are you all doing here?" he asked them, looking to each. Blaise and Ginny were holding hands and grinning cheekily, though Blaise looked rather distressed through thr smile. Pansy was glowering cruelly at Neville, who had escaped the wrath of Feldspar by the help of Harry.

"Happy birthday!" Feldspar screeched, flapping his wings and looking surprisingly happy.

"What do you..." Draco trailed off and remembered the date. "Oh. So there's that, too." 

Harry walked over and took his arm, leaving Feldspar to perch on a lamp. "Yes. There's that too," he repeated, pecking him on the cheek. "I would have mentioned it if I knew you'd forget."

Draco's cheeks turned red, and he tried to scoff it away. "Since when did you care about my birthday, Potter?"

Both Neville and Ginny snickered, and Harry just laughed and kissed his cheek again.

"Well, who's up for food?" Blaise asked. "Pansy's brought cake."

Pansy smiled and held her chin high in the air. "And you'll love it."

Ginny laughed, high and clear. "If I'm to take Blaise's word for your cooking, I shall." She tugged him towards the kitchen area. 

"I'll have some, too!" Neville exclaimed, hurrying after them. "As  long as _someone else_ shares with the bird."

Draco was so happy to see everyone getting along. He leaned against Harry, who stood behind him and wrapped his arms around him.

"Thanks for doing this for me," he murmured, watching as his friends squabbled over the cake. "I needed it after working."

"Oh, yes, poor you. Spain. Must've been terrible," Harry joked, resting his chin on Draco's shoulder. 

"Shut it. This is still nice."

Feldspar flew over and began to try and terrorize Blaise, snatching some of his cake. Harry chuckled at that. 

"It's not much," he replied. "And besides, I did practically break into your house." 

"I know," Draco agreed with a snicker, imagining the sitter's reaction to Harry's arrival. "But it's the little things that count, right?" Whether it was remembering his birthday or their "anniversary" or his quick kisses.  

Harry sighed in agreement. "I'm glad you trust me now," he mused absently. "There was a time when those little things would have made you think I was trying to trick you or something." He chuckled and kissed Draco beneath the earlobe for good measure.

He shivered in delight. "You're telling _me_?"

Then, Feldspar planted himself in Pansy's plate of cake, and she screamed. The other three burst out laughing, and Feldspar began screeching in Turkish.

"We better get over there," Harry murmured, pulling away to attend to the chaos.

Draco watched in amusement before going over to help. Despite the noise and the mess, there was a lightness in his heart as he and Harry scrambled to calm Pansy and stop Blaise from starting a food fight. 

It was all good, it was all fun, because it was his birthday, and life was beautiful. And he did not one bit regret the day he ran into Harry at the vetrinary office.

Or their terrible double date.

Or the awkward Ministry lunch.

Or the night in the park after that dinner date.

Or the entire mess that was their dipomatic trip to Turkey.

Or anything. Draco's heart was light because he had no regrets. There was nothing on his mind but his friends, his animals, and Harry. 

What a bright future he was going to have, he thought with a smile. 

From his spot on the floor, Dashing let out a quiet _woof_ of agreement.

~fin~


End file.
